





t^C 



*&. 



rm 



*T^ 



I* 



^s&L 



<&& 



*WB 



.ftp-lbs^ 




AJ 



im 



m 



.*>. 



Im 






rest** 



.*£*• r S*t 



-» 



k f\nnn ' c * 





IfWWj 




Rook ./Js- y/T 

■ igSST 



PWS 



HVH 




*BT 









# r ^ 






I1M 



ip 
* ' 



1A*A iA 






Ayffl 



i^uta/M 



^$am a . 



/'•'iffwiy^ 



V:A WM 






AA A ftfS : 



*S <tim ^. ' r " — • — jt - *** 




ROUTLEDGE'S BRITISH POETS. 

OF 

MARK AKENSIDE 

AND 

JOHN DYER. 







<s>d#. 



m 




Vv 









POETICA 




MARK AKENSID 



JOHN DYER. 



EDITED BY 



THE REV. ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT, 



INCUMBENT OE BEAB WOOD. 



Iltostrateb bg girket <$0*ter. 



LONDON: 
GEORGE EOTJTLEDGE AND CO. 

FARRINGDON STREET. 

NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET. 

1855. 









£J* 



VI 






t*y -. . tiisier 

MAR 15 19)7 






PREFACE. 



" If it rained knowledge," said Johnson to Boswell, 
exulting in his canvass of Lord Marchmont, about 
^ Pope, " I'd hold out my hand." Humbler biographers 
are expected to take more pains, although their in- 
dustry is often unfruitful. The history of Akenside 
has been investigated by Mr. Bucke, the Rev. Alex- 
ander Dyce, and the latest Editor of "Johnson's 
Lives." I have not been able to make much addition 
to their stores. The life of Akenside by Mr. Dyce, 
is particularly careful, and must always be consulted 
with advantage. 

My inquiries respecting Dyer have been more suc- 
cessful. The kindness of Mr. W. H. Dyer LongstafFe, 
the descendant and the representative of the Poet, 
has furnished me with some unpublished verses of Dyer, 
and several interesting illustrations of his mind and 
genius. To the same gentleman I am indebted for 
the portrait which appears in this volume. The face 

b 



VI PKEFACE. 

of Dyer, is now, for the first time, exhibited to his 
admirers ; the portrait which was prefixed to the 
editions of his Poems, by Johnson and Bell, represented 
a very different Mr. Dyer, who is mentioned by Sir 
John Hawkins. My thanks are also due to Mr. Peter 
Cunningham, and Mr. I. G. Nichols. I should have 
been willing to enlarge the number of the Notes, but 
a crowded page is not pleasing ; and every reader of a 
poet is expected to bring some information to the 
perusal. For the Notes, which have a signature, I 
am responsible. 

E. A. WlLLMOTT. 

St. Catherine's, May 28, 1855. 



CONTENTS. 



he Pleasures of Imagination 

ODES ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS. 



PAGE 
1 



BOOK I. 

I. Preface 110 

II. On the Winter Solstice ... 112 

in. To a Friend Unsuccessful in Love ... ... ... 116 

iv. Affected Indifference ... .. ... ... ... 118 

v. Against Suspicion ... ... ... ... ... 118 

vi. Hymn to Cheerfulness ... ... ... ... 120 

vii. On the Use of Poetry 124 

Vin. On Leaving Holland ... 125 

ix. To Curio— 1744 128 

x. To the Muse 133 

xi. On Love, to a Friend ... 133 

xii. To Sir Francis Henry Drake, Baronet 135 

xiii. On Lyric Poetry 138 

xiv. To the Hon. Charles Townshend ; from the Country 141 

xv. To the Evening Star ... 143 

xvi. To Caleb Hardinge, M.D 146 

xvn. On a Sermon against Griory — 1747 ... ... ... 147 

xviii. To the Right Hon. Francis Earl of Huntingdon — 

1747 148 

BOOK II. 

I. The Remonstrance of Shakespeare ... ... ... 156 

ii. To Sleep 158 

in. To the Cuckoo ... 160 

iv. To the Hon. Charles Townshend in the Country ; 1750 161 

v. On Love of Praise .... .. 167 

vi. To William Hall, Esquire, with the Works of Chaulieu 168 
vii. To the Right Rev. Benjamin Lord Bishop of Win- 
chester ; 1754 169 

£2 



Till 



CONTENTS. 



on the late Edition of 



viii. If Rightly Tuneful Bards decide 
ix. At Study 
x. To Thomas Edwards, Esquire : 

Mr. Pope's Works — 1751 

xi. To the Country Gentlemen of England — 1758 
xn. On Recovery from a Fit of Sickness in the Country — 

1758 

xiii. To the Author of Memoirs of the House of Branden- 

burgh — 1751 
xiv. The Complaint ... 
xv. On Domestic Manners ... 



PAGE 

172 
173 

174 
176 

181 

184 
185 

186 



Hymn to the Naiads 
Inscriptions 
An Epistle to Curio 
The Virtuoso ... 
Ambition and Content 
The Poet — A Rhapsody 
A British Philippic 
Hymn to Science 
Love, an Elegy . . . 
To Cordelia 
Song 



188 
200 
205 
213 
216 
218 
223 
227 
229 
232 
233 



MARK AKENSIDE. 



Theee is yet standing, in the busy town of Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne, the house in which Mark Akenside, a Presby- 
terian dissenter, followed the trade of a butcher. Under 
that roof a second son, also called Mark, was born, No- 
vember 9, 1721, and was "baptized the 30th of the same 
month by the 'Rev. Mr. Benjamin Bennet." Two hundred 
years earlier, Thomas Horsley, Mayor of Newcastle, founded 
a school to be free for any within or without the town. 
"Thither the boy Mark was sent in due season. He must 
have remained in the school for a considerable time, if he 
ever became, as he is reported to have been, the pupil of 
Richard Dawes, the learned author of the "Miscellanea 
Critica," who was appointed to the head-mastership in 
1738. To him the following lines are thought to apply: — 

Thee, too, facetious Momion, wandering here, 
Thee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheld 
Bewilder' d unawares: alas, too long 
Flush'd with thy comic triumphs, and the spoils 
Of sly derision ! till on ev'ry side 
Hurling thy random bolts, offended truth 
Assigned thee here thy station, with the slaves 
Of folly. 

Dawes was a fair object of sarcasm. On one occasion he 
directed the boys to render the Greek word for "ass" into 
"alderman," by way of insulting the Corporation, with 
whom he had quarrelled. Akenside subsequently received 
instruction from a dissenting teacher in the town. 

He adds another name to the list of boy-poets ; for 
in his sixteenth year he contributed some verses to the 
Gentleman s Magazine, with an introductory note to the 



X AKENSIDE. 

Editor. The poem was the "Virtuoso," imitated from 
Spenser, but suggested, it has been thought, by a passage 
in the " Characteristics" of Shaftesbury, of whose writings 
Akenside was, throughout his life, a devout student and 
admirer. Sylvanus Urban recognised the merits of his 
young correspondent, and willingly enriched the pages of 
the May and July numbers with the Fable on Ambi- 
tion and Content, and "The Poet, a Rhapsody;" the 
former showing an ear awake to the music of the heroic 
line, and the latter exhibiting the mock-dignity of bur- 
lesque. " The Poet" is more like Phillips than the "Vir- 
tuoso" is like Spenser. Indeed, Akenside took something 
from "The Splendid Shilling" besides the tune; several 
passages are close copies. The hero of Phillips com- 
plains — 

My galligaskins that have long withstood 

The winter's fury and encroaching frosts, 

By time subdued (what will not time subdue ?) 

An horrid chasm disclose with orifice 

Wide, discontinuous — 

The poet of Akenside bewails his tattered tapestry — 

Precarious state 
Of this vain transient world ! All powerful time, 
What dost thou not subdue ? See what a chasm 
Gfapes wide, tremendous. 

The Dun also reappears; not, as in the " Shilling," climb- 
ing to the dizzy garret, and then 

"With vocal heel thrice thundering at the gate;" 

he descends upon the " Poet" taking a visionary walk 
and rejoicing in the full glow of freedom and inspiration. 
"We meet, too, the old image of Arachne, differently 
employed. 

Bat a strain of a higher mood was rising upon his ear. 
Akenside had some relations residing at Morpeth, where he 
passed many of his early days, and no verses flowed from 



AKENSIDE. XI 

his tongue more sweetly than those in which he recalls the 
happy wanderings of boyhood: — 

ye dales 

Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands, where, 
Oft as the giant-flood obliquely strides, 
And his banks open and his lawns extend, 
Stops short the pleased traveller to view, 
Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower 
Founded by Norman, or by Saxon hands; 

ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook 
The rocky pavement and the mossy falls 
Of solitary TVensbeck's limpid stream, 
How gladly I recall your well-known seats 
Belov'd of old, and that delightful time 
When all alone, for many a summer's day, 

1 wandered through your calm recesses, led 
In silence by some powerful hand unseen. 

These memories of the heart — the dying lights of his 
poetry — remind ns of that other minstrel, who, in the still 
later autumn of life, turned an eye of equal tenderness and 
love upon the spring, and recollected the grassy lane and 
the rural walks of the truant boy, who 

pass'd his bounds 

T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames. 

The warlike preparations of the Spaniards inspired 
Akenside in 1738 with a "British Philippic," which was 
printed in the Gentleman s Magazine for August ; and in 
the October of the following year he contributed a "Hymn 
to Science." His future occupation was now to be deter- 
mined, and the ministry of the Dissenters seeming to open 
a promising path, in his nineteenth year he was sent to 
the University of Edinburgh, to be educated for the work. 
But the experience of one winter was sufficient to change 
his resolution, and he transferred his name from the theo- 
logical to the medical class. It should be stated that the 
money, which the Dissenters had advanced for a different 



Xll AKENSIDE. 

purpose, was honourably returned. Akenside resided in 
Edinburgh for two years, without making his studies en- 
tirely professional. A medical society had recently been 
formed, of which he was elected a member at the close of 
1740, and which combined the attractions of a debating 
club with graver investigations. We are informed by 
Dugald Stewart that Robertson, then a divinity student, 
was accustomed to attend the meetings for the sake of 
hearing the speeches of Akenside. The Ode on the 
"Winter Solstice," the Elegy called "Love," and the 
verses to " Cordelia," are assigned to this period. 

He returned to Newcastle in 1741, carrying with him 
a treasure more costly than his science, in the friendship 
of Jeremiah Dyson, a name never to be mentioned by 
any lover of genius, or noble deeds, without affection and 
reverence. The earliest letter of Akenside to Dyson is 
dated August 18, 1742, and is remarkable for the ardour 
and esteem which it breathes. "If," he writes, " you 
will excuse me for being thus selfish, I sincerely and 
heartily offer you my friendship." How the offer was 
received our poetical history gratefully remembers. 

I am not able to trace the growth of the Poem by which 
Akenside's name is chiefly preserved ; but it was in the 
summer, or autumn, of 1743 that Dodsley took with him to 
Twickenham a manuscript, for which the writer asked one 
hundred and twenty pounds ; a reward that Wordsworth 
might have dreamed of in vain during his earlier career. 
Pope, having looked into the Poem, advised the bookseller 
not to make a niggardly offer, because " this was no every- 
day writer." The manuscript was the " Pleasures of 
Imagination," which issued from the shop of Dodsley, 
January 1744. Gray, rather turning it over, as he con- 
fessed, than reading it, discovered its great fault in "being 
published at least nine years too early." Yet the merit 
grew from the fault. If we except the Essay on Criticism, 
the production of a fruitfuller intellect — sooner ripe — 
what writer, with the experience of twenty -three years, 



AKENSIDE. Xlll 

lias displayed greater affluence of fancy and harmony 
of style? The welcome of the " Pleasures" was warm 
and generous. Its reputation quickly spread. Shenstone, 
in a letter to Jago, after describing the pickpockets who 
knocked down people in Fleet-street with bludgeons, in- 
forms him — " There is a poem of the season, called the 
* Pleasures of Imagination,' which is worth your reading ; 
but it is an expensive quarto : if it comes out in a less size 
I will bring it home with me." 

In most applause there is one disapproving tongue/, 
eagerly making itself heard ; for what voice is louder than- 
spite ? In the present case, the tongue was vehement and 
bitter. Akenside, adopting the theory of Shaftesbury: 
that ridicule is the test of truth, had been betrayed into 
an unbecoming attack upon the Clergy. Warburton,' 
indignant on behalf of his " order," and influenced by a 
supposed affront to himself, lost no time in assaulting the 
Poet with his customary weapons. He hints at Deism, and 
even conjectures an Atheist. To his reply to Dr. Mia- 
dleton and others, he prefixed a Preface, in which the 
"nameless author of the * Pleasures of Imagination'" is 
attacked, as "coming upon him rudely in disguise," and 
affecting " wit and raillery on subjects not meet, and with, 
talents unequal." Warburton, proceeding to dissect the 
argument of Akenside, lays it bare with a steady and 
daring hand. He hesitates a mortifying doubt of the 
poet's scholarship, 1 and talks of readers "whose common 
sense is not all run to taste." This Preface afterwards 
reappeared, with some variations, under the title of " Post- 
script to the Dedication to the Free-thinkers," and there 
the Poet is coupled with "a critic of equal eminence." 2 
One or two passages may be quoted : — 

" The Poet was a follower of Lord Shaftesbury's fancies, 
the Critic a follower of his own ; both men of taste, and 
equally anxious for the well-doing of ridicule. I have 
given some account of the latter in a note of the Dedica- 

i Works (Hurd) xi. 223. 2 Works i. 151. 



XIV AKEKSIDE. 

tion. The other was too full of the subject and of himself 
to be despatched with so little ceremony : he must there- 
fore undergo an examination apart." 

And this is the conclusion : — 

"What! because Eeason, the guide of life, the support 
of religion, the investigator of truth, must be still used, 
though it be continually subject to abuse ; therefore, 
Eidicule, the paltry buffoon mimic of Eeason, must have 
the same indulgence ! because a king must be intrusted 
with government, though he may misuse his power, there- 
fore the king's fool shall be suffered to play the madman ! 
But upon what footing standeth this extraordinary claim ? 
Why, we have a natural sense of the ridiculous, and the 
ridiculous has a natural feeling of the incongruous ; and 
then who can forbear laughing ? If to this you add Taste, 
Beauty, deformity, moral sense, moral rectitude, moral 
falsehood, you have then, I think, the whole theory of the 
ridiculous. But who would have imagined that while he 
was defending Ridicule from the charge of abuse, he should 
be adding fresh exceptions to his own plea ? Not, indeed, 
that the comment disgraced the text, nor that there was 
much incongruity in pleading for a fault which he was just 
then committing. But so it is, that when he is poetically 
marshalling the follies of human life, he places the whole 
body of Christian clergy in the foremost rank amongst such, 
who, he tells us, assume some desirable quality or posses- 
sion which evidently does not belong to them. 

Others, of graver mien, behold; adorn'd 
With holy Ensigns, how sublime they move, 
And bending oft their sanctimonious eyes, 
Take homage of the simple-minded throng, 
Ambassadors of Heav'n. 

But let it go for what it is — a poor joke of his master's, 
and spoiled too in the telling. The dulness of the ridicule 
will sufficiently atone for the abuse of it." 
Akenside's ''master" is Shaftesbury. The "joke," 



AKENSXDE. XV 

certainly not ''poor," is in tlie third volume of the 
" Characteristics. ,;1 

Warburton was not an assailant whom any writer could 
afford to despise, and on ATay 1st. 1744, a reply to his re- 
marks was published, — the materials being probably fur- 
nished by Akenside, while Dyson held the pen. The letter 
is rough and angry, through the charge of personality 
is denied. The poet afterwards softened die objectionable 
passage : but from the minds of "Warburton and his 
friends, the hostile feeling was not erased : Gray writes to 
ATason (Dec. 19th, 1756), 2 communicating a hope of Dr. 
"Warton, that "Dr. Hurd will not treat Dr. Akenside so 
hardly as he intended." And in the next year we find 
ATason saying : — " I wrote, as you bade me, to Dr. Hurd, 
and read his answer. He says : — ' I could not but smile 
at Dr. TVarton's petition. As what I had to say of that 
wretch, was no extraordinary pass of patience, I may be 
the easier induced to make a sacrifice of it to humanity ; 
but I make no promise.' " 

"When the epistle to Warburton came out, Akenside 
was at Leyden, an eminent school of medical learning. 
Ten years after him another poet visited the town in 
search of similar advantages ; for in 1751, Goldsmith 
sent to his uncle an amusing sketch of Dutch people 
and manners; of the "right-down Hollander" covering 
his head of lank hair " with a half-cocked narrow hat, 
laced with black ribbon," wearing no coat, but seven 
waistcoats, and nine pairs of breeches ; and of the 
lady in a large "fur cap ; with a deal of Flanders lace." 
But a remark of Mrs. Eadcliffe is cleverer, when, 
describing the sledges about Amsterdam, she notices the 
convenience of being on a level with the shops, and with 
the faces which contain their history. Akenside lived in 
Leyden, buried, as he assured his dearest correspondent, 
in medical books, collecting facts and comparing opinions 
anions: the dullest of mortal men. and in their dullest 
1 p. 336. 2 Correspondence of G-rav with ZSIason, p. 112. 



XVI AKENSIDE. 

capacity, that of authors. Yet Ley den was not destitute of 
scholars, and Albinus filled the chair of Anatomy, in which 
science he had gained an European reputation. Akenside 
received the degree of Doctor of Physic, May 16th, 1744 ; 
his inaugural discourse describing the formation and 
growth of the human foetus, and displaying, it is said, 
originality and acuteness. His thoughts now turned to 
England ; being chiefly anxious that his home might be 
near the residence of Mr. Dyson. " Of one thing," he 
told him, " I am certain, never to be far from you." He 
selected Northampton ; but the choice was unfortunate, for 
Dr. Stonehouse possessed the confidence of the town, and 
had just completed the County Infirmary, of which he 
was called the Projector, the Friend, and the Physician. 
He who fails in a pursuit, frequently loses his temper also. 
Akenside, finding skill or industry alike ineffective against 
his competitor, is said to have resorted to artifices, which 
were only injurious to himself. 

The excellent and useful Doddridge then lived at North- 
ampton, and his learning, not less than his doctrine, 
would recommend him to the Poet. Their intercourse was 
probably frequent and genial. Kippis, a pupil of the 
Doctor, slightly mentions, in the Biographia, an amicable 
debate between Akenside and Doddridge, concerning the 
opinions of the ancient philosophers on a future state of 
rewards and punishments ; but in his life of Doddridge, 
prefixed to the " Family Expositor," 1 he furnishes a fuller 
and more interesting statement : — " The ingenious poet 
and the learned divine were in the habits of considerable 
intimacy, while the former resided at Northampton. A 
matter of controversy between them was, how far the 
heathen philosophers were acquainted with, and had in- 
culcated, the doctrine of immortality. Akenside con- 
tended for the honour of the philosophers, and Doddridge 
for that of the Christian revelation. The subject was 
pursued in express conferences, for two or three evenings ; 

1 xliv. 



AXES' SIDE. XV11 

and both the gentlemen exerted their talent, and collected 
their literature on the different sides of the question. 
Dr. Doddridge, who used to inform his pupils of whatever 
he met with which he thought would contribute to their 
instruction and pleasure, related to us, on the succeeding 
morning, the arguments that had been produced, and the 
result of the debate." I may add the instance which 
Xippis gives of Doddridge's power in extemporaneous 
speaking. " Akenside, being yisited by some relations 
from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, who were Dissenters, came 
with them, unexpectedly, one Sunday morning, to Dr. 
Doddridge's meeting. The subject he preached upon was 
a common orthodox topic, for which he had scarcely made 
any preparation. But he roused his faculties on the occa- 
sion, and spoke with such energy, variety, and eloquence, 
as excited my warmest admiration, and must have im- 
pressed Dr. Akenside with a high opinion of his abilities." 
The anecdote may be thought to show the Poet's neglect 
of public worship ; for if he was seldom seen at the Meet- 
ing-house, he would scarcely be found in the Church. 

At Northampton Akenside wrote his " Epistle to Curio," 
which Mr. Macaulay considers his best production, in- 
dicating powers of elevated satire, which, if diligently cul- 
tivated, might have disputed the pre-eminence of Dryden. 
And certainly the Epistle belongs to what Dryden called 
the most noble kind of satire ; it is stately in words, 
smooth in numbers, vehement in tone, and happy in ex- 
pression ; mixing the majesty of patriotism with personal 
venom. But Mr. Macaulay bestows no praise on the 
political doctrines which the Satire inculcates : — " The 
poet tells us what he expected from Pulteney, at the 
moment of the fall of the tyrant. It was Pulteney 's 
business, it seems, to abolish faro and masquerades, to 
stint the young Duke of Marlborough to a bottle of 
brandy a day, and to prevail on Lady Yane to be content 
with three lovers at a time." It has not, I think, been 
observed, that the Epistle to Curio shows the swing and 



XV111 AKENSIDE. 

force of Campbell, in his noblest verses. The Apostrophe, 
in the " Pleasures of Hope," beginning, — 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled, 

is only an echo of Akenside's appeal — 

Ye shades immortal, who, by Freedom led, 
Or in the field, or on the scaffold bled, 
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye. 

Akenside's ill success in his medical schemes was now 
become decisive ; and, quitting Northampton, which, ac- 
cording to Johnson, he had deafened with clamours 
for liberty, in 1747, he removed to Hampstead. The 
rivals were probably reconciled in parting ; for a letter is 
preserved from Dr. Stonehouse, in which he speaks of 
Akenside as a man of refined sense and elegant taste ; 
" and whose near neighbourhood, in any place where 
there had been room for them both," he would have 
regarded as an addition to his own happiness. The first 
edition of the Odes had already been published. 

Akenside came to Hampstead with every advantage of 
position and patronage. Mr. Dyson purchased a house that 
he might introduce him among the neighbouring families ; 
and there, is the relation of Sir John Hawkins, " they dwelt 
together during the summer season, frequenting the long 
room, and all clubs, and assemblies of the inhabitants." 
But the proverb says, — " He that hath no honey in his 
pot, let him have it in his mouth ;" and no lips carried less 
honey than Akenside's. Untaught by the experience of 
Northampton, he manifested in the society of Hampstead 
the same love of display and haughtiness of manner. 
Yet there was much to soften a temper. He had before 
his eyes a prospect, which G-oldsmith, in a moment of 
enthusiasm, declared to be magnificent; and he enjoyed 
the endearing kindness of his generous companion. " I 
am not unfrequently," Mr. Wordsworth wrote in 1837, 
" a visitor on Hampstead Heath, and I seldom pass by the 



AKENSIDE. XIX 

entrance of Mr. Dyson's villa at G-onlder's Hill, close by, 
without thinking of the pleasure which Akenside often 
had there." 

!N~o man insults or disregards his neighbours with 
impunity. The Hampstead malignants were not choice 
in their weapons, and even the Newcastle butcher 
was revived to mortify the presuming physician. After 
a residence of less than three years, Akenside aban- 
doned Hampstead, and took up his abode in London, 
the proper place, if we are to accept Johnson's opinion, 
for a man of accomplishments like his. The protecting 
hand of Dyson, however, had caught no chill ; and having 
procured a house in Bloomsbury Square, he placed the 
poet in it, and calmed his anxiety and doubts for the 
future by an annuity of three hundred pounds. 

The romance of literature contains few pages so pleasing 
as this memorial of friendship, between persons who 
differed in almost every feature of intellect and disposition. 
Eickman did not less resemble Southey. Either might 
have said of the other : — 

And so my wealth resembled thine, 
But he was rich where I was poor, 
And he supplied my want the more, 

As his unlikeness fitted mine. 

Dyson was strictly a man of business : clear, practical, 
abounding in good sense and method, which he manifested 
as principal Clerk of the House of Commons, Secretary to 
the Treasury, and Member for Horsham. Richardson 
honoured him with a ring, Akenside with regard, and 
Junius with abuse. !N"ow Taste loves him. 

Episodes of kindness may be read in the annals of 
English genius ; Dryden remembered the princely gift 
of Ormond ; Taylor set in his own gold the affection 
of Evelyn ; Southey had cause of thankfulness through- 
out life to his schoolfellow Wynne ; the Wedge woods 
smoothed the pillow of Coleridge ; and Sir George 
Beaumont bequeathed a hundred pounds a-year to 



XX AKENSIDE. 

Wordsworth, for the expenses of a tour. But the 
generosity of Dyson overtops them all. We are informed 
by Hardin ge that Akenside lived incomparably well; 
and Sir John Hawkins expresses a conviction that the 
supply which the poet drew from his friend, was only 
limited by his wants. Men are lavish of words ; but 
money is the true test of esteem. Ask a favour, and 
you try the metal. He is blessed who finds it to be 
pure. Akenside was not ungrateful. Time gave a richer 
and a warmer colour to his attachment, into which all the 
checked tenderness of love seemed to flow ; and, after 
fifteen years of most familiar intercourse, he illuminated 
and consecrated the friendship for ever, in the lines which 
lie inserted in the remodelled copy of the " Pleasures of 
Imagination : 5 ' — 

Nor thou, my Dyson, to the lay refuse 
Thy wonted partial audience. What, though first 
In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports 
Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay, 
With many splendid prospects, many charms, 
Allur'd my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung, 
Nor heedful of their end ? Yet serious Truth 
Her empire o'er the calm, sequestered theme 
Asserted now ; while Falsehood's evil brood, 
Vice and deceitful pleasure, she at once 
Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil 
Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid 
Thy friendship added, in the paths of life, 
The busy paths, my unaccustomed feet 
Preserving ; nor to Truth's recess divine, 
Through this wide argument's unbroken space, 
Withholding surer guidance ; while by turns 
We traeed the sages old, or while the queen 
Of Sciences (whom manners and the mind 
Acknowledge) to my true companion's voice 
Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp 
Inclin'd her sceptre favouring. Now the Fates 
Have other tasks impos'd. To thee, my friend, 
The ministry of freedom, and the faith 



AKENSIDE. XXI 

Of popular decrees, in early youth, 

Not vaiuly they committed. Me they sent 

To wait on pain ; and silent arts to urge, 

Inglorious, not ignoble ; if my cares, 

To such as languish on a grievous bed, 

Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill 

Conciliate ; nor delightless ; if the Muse, 

Her shades to visit and to taste her springs, 

If some distinguished hours the bounteous Muse 

Impart, and grant (what she and she alone 

Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths 

Of fame and honest favour, which the bless' d 

"Wear in Elysium, and which never felt 

The breath of envy, or malignant tongues, 

That these my hand for thee and for myself 
' May gather. Meanwhile, my faithful friend, 

early chosen, ever found the same, 

And trusted and beloved ; once more the verse 

Long destin'd, always obvious to thine ear, 

Attend, indulgent. So in latest years, 

When Time thy head with honours shall have cloth' d, 

Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind 
• Amid the calm review of seasons past, 

Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace, 

Or public zeal, may then thy mind, well pleas'd 

Recall these happy studies of our prime. 

Akenside found his professional work sufficiently easy 
to permit of literary occupation, when Dodsley sought 
his aid to render the magazine called the "Museum" 
more attractive and popular. Mr. Peter Cunningham has 
printed the poet's agreement to prepare two essays in 
each month, and to furnish a general account of important 
boohs, — English, Latin, French, or Italian, — as they came 
from the Press. Por this assistance a yearly payment of 
one hundred pounds was promised. The contributions of 
Akenside are extremely ingenious. One of them, " The 
Table of Modern Pame," was suggested, as he states, by 
an "admired paper" in the "Tatler," where the most 
famous personages of antiquity are represented at the table 



XX11 AKENSIDE. 

of Fame. Having composed his mind by the contem- 
plation of these venerable figures, the Essayist falls asleep, 
and suddenly finds himself walking in a vast plain, where 
he is met by a dignified man, clothed in purple, and 
holding a silver rod, who, after a kind salutation, offers 
to conduct him to the abode of modern Fame, the younger 
sister of the ancient. The Poet accepts the offer, and 
enters the temple. Some of the characters are vigorously 
described, not without an occasional touch of irony; 
as when Leo X., recognising Luther, in a crowd and 
tumult of people and tongues, entreats the beautiful Powers 
which stand about him, to hide that rude creature from 
his eyes ; and again, when Fame leads Bacon to a chair 
below Pope, who is heard muttering, " wisest, brightest, 
meanest." There is something pleasant in Haffaelle's 
reception of Milton, and in his wish for him to take the 
higher place. The breaking up of the vision is appro- 
priately ascribed to the clamour and mirth accompanying 
the entrance of a candidate, who had brushed in by 
stealth, and whose arch leer and Foppington step pro- 
claimed him to be Colley Cibber. This essay was printed 
in the " Museum," September 13, 1746. In the same year 
he produced the " Hymn to the Naiads." 

The life of Akenside was not diversified by many remark- 
able events. In 1753 he obtained the degree of Doctor of 
Medicine from the University of Cambridge, and in the 
next year he was elected a fellow of the College of Physi- 
cians, before whom he read the Gulstonian Lectures, at 
the close of May, 1755 ; and the Croonian Lectures, in 
September, 1756 ; but the subject, the " Revival of Learn- 
ing," had no fitness to recommend it, and being reasonably 
disapproved, Akenside abruptly concluded the course. 

Of the extent and nature of his practice the opinions are 
conflicting and irreconcilable. Kippis calls it consider- 
able, and Hardinge believed it to be insignificant. His 
patients might be few, but they were probably in the 
higher ranks. I have met with a passage in Bishop New- 



AlvEXSIDE. XX111 

ton's Anecdotes of Lis own Life, which encourages this 
inference : " During the bishop's first dangerous illness, in 
the Deanery House at St. Paul's, his good friend Bishop 
Lyttelton was coming from the other end of the town to 
visit him, when a strong east wind, blowing full in his face, 
affected him to such a degree that he could come no fur- 
ther than Temple Bar, sent his servant on to St. Paul's, 
and went himself directly home again. This intended visit 
proved fatal to him, for he was seized with the same kind 
of inflammation of the lungs and shortness of breath as his 
friend had been, and Dr. Akenside, his physician, treated 
him in the same manner as the other physicians had 
treated his friend." 1 Whatever might be the extent of 
Akenside's practice, his reputation was growing, and the 
honours of his profession began to be reaped. In January, 
1759, he was chosen Assistant, and two months later, chief 
Physician of St. Thomas's Hospital. He wanted the 
gentleness and the patience that sufferings demand : lan- 
guor seldom smiled at his bidding. There happened to be 
at the hospital a young surgeon's dresser, to whom the 
poetry of Akenside was familiar, and who rejoiced in the 
prospect of being associated with the writer. But his 
hopes soon died out when he beheld the solemn and petu- 
lant Doctor in a large white wig, and wearing a long sword, 
preceded by a detachment of convalescents, armed with 
brooms to repulse any intrusive invalid, and sweep what- 
ever dust might gather in the progress. The young ad- 
mirer was Lettsom, who afterwards claimed his own niche 
in the biography of learned and good men. 

I may here add to the medical publications of Akenside 
an account of a blow upon the heart, included in the JP7ii- 
losophical Transactions (1763), and a later tract DeDysen- 
teria (1764). 

Having removed from Bloomsbury-square to Craven- 
street in 1759, he again (1762) changed his abode for 
Burlington-street, where he resided until his death. The 

i Works of Bishop Newton, i. 128. 

c2 



XXIV AKEJS T STDE. 

October of 1759 was marked by the delivery of tbe 
" Harveian Oration," which, by the order of the College 
of Physicians, was published in the following year. But 
1761 witnessed a more important circumstance in Ak en- 
side's history ; for in that year he went over to 
Toryism. Mr. Dyson deserted his old companions at the 
same time. " They became," is the narrative of Mr. 
Hardinge, " bigoted adherents to Lord Bute. Mr. Dyson 
was preferred, and his friend, whom he always kept in 
mind, was made Physician to the Queen." No renegade can 
expect to be thought honest who gains money, or rank, by 
his change. " If he be so weak as to change once, he will 
change again." The remark is Selden's. Akenside's pa- 
triotism had doubtless a poetical hue : he might talk 
loudly of freedom without much real interest or faith — 
the crimson dagger of Brutus, in the " Pleasures," being 
only a pictorial effect. Hardinge very cleverly said that 
his politics were illegible. 

In 1766 he printed an Ode to Thomas Edwards, which 
had been written fifteen years before. Its publication 
was occasioned by Warburton's issue of a new edition of 
the first and second volumes of the " Divine Legation," 
in which the censure of Akenside was retained. An acci- 
dental discovery enabled the poet to annoy his antagonist. 
There lived in London, at the beginning of January, 1726, 
a certain Matthew Concanen, whose present abode is in 
the second book of the " Dunciad." To this person, in an 
evil hour, Warburton wrote a letter, in which he commu- 
nicated the startling discovery that Pope borrowed for 
want of genius, and thanked his correspondent for the 
knowledge " of those worthy and ingenious gentlemen," to 
whom he had introduced him. The letter fell into the 
hands of Akenside, who would have shown more respect to 
himself by suppressing it. The ode is pleasing. Edwards 
was an amiable and accomplished scholar, and the Sonnet 
on a Family Picture will preserve his name in poetical 



AKENSIDE. XXV 

collections. He enjoyed the particular friendship of Dyer, 
and closed his journey of life at the same age, and in the 
same year. He was buried at Ellesborough, in Bucking- 
hamshire, and one of the most pleasing of his sonnets is 
addressed to the sexton of that parish. 

Akenside was now engaged upon the revised copy of his 
"Pleasures of Imagination;" and in 1765 he had com- 
pleted the second book. In the September (23rd) of that 
year, we read a notice of him in a letter of his friend, Mr. 
Wray, who had a house at Richmond, called Mount 
Ararat: — "I was at Mount Ararat sooner than usual, to 
attend Lord and Lady Dacre, accompanied by Akenside, 
who passed the evening there, and communicated a second, 
and part of the third book in his great work. In the for- 
mer, and in the same philosophical way, he is eloquent on 
the topics of truth, and virtue, vice, and the passions. In 
the latter, Solon is introduced, giving a fable on the origin 
of evil; it is introduced by an episode from Herodotus of 
Argarista's marriage, the daughter of Clisthenes, which is 
delightfully poetical." 1 During the ensuing year (June 6, 
and July 7), Akenside read three papers before the College, 
which were printed in the " Medical Transactions." The 
sky over-head seemed to be clearing in the sun ; his name 
was distinguished in literature, and his reputation as a 
physician was steadily, if slowly, advancing, when, of a 
sudden, he "fell sick of the sickness whereof he died;" 
his disorder being a putrid fever, which terminated his 
life, June 23rd, 1770. He was buried at St. James's 
Church, on the 28th. 

The manuscripts and property of Akenside passed into 
the hands of Mr. Dyson, who published an edition of the 
Poems in 1772, with a brief notice of the Author in the 
form of an advertisement. It is asserted that he had 
made some progress in a new poem, of which the title 

1 "Xichols' Illustrations of the Literary History of the 18th Century/' 
i. 104-5. 



XXVI AKENSIDE. 

was " Timoleon ;" a subject that attracted Pope, and was 
recommended to Thomson, No fragment of the poem is 
known to exist. 

For a pen-and-ink sketch of Akenside we are indebted 
to Mr. Justice Hardinge, who knew him intimately. His 
appearance was not prepossessing, the complexion being 
pale and sickly, though the features were manly and ex- 
pressive ; a powdered wig in stiff curl, together with 
an artificial heel, heightened the grotesque seriousness of 
his general aspect. According to Hardinge, "he looked 
as if he never could be undressed," and the cleaver, which 
fell on his foot in his father's shop, left a "hitch" in his 
gait. Mr. Rogers 1 remembers a saying of Henderson, the 
comedian, that Akenside, when he walked the streets, 
was like one of his own "Alexandrines" set upright. 

His temper was irritable, and sometimes brutal, if a 
patient did not immediately answer his questions, or 
showed any hesitation or difficulty in swallowing the medi- 
cines which he prescribed. Of his harsh behaviour to 
women, a curious explanation has been discovered in the 
bitter remembrance of an early disappointment. But no 
safe conclusions are to be drawn from poetical complaints 
or panegyrics. That Akenside was a lover, favoured or 
rejected, we have no other evidence than his own verses. 
The first book of the " Pleasures" has a portrait of Dione, 
and the second shows Parthenia called away by death when 
the wreath of Hymen was woven for her head. We may 
expect the " refused" to be spiteful, but scarcely the 
" bereaved." 

Like poets in general, Akenside talked best and looked 
happiest in society which courted him. In the gardens of 
Mount Ararat, with a choice circle of admiring friends, or 
over an elegant repast at Putney Bowling-green, he was a 
delightful companion ; and while he poured out a libation to 
Plato, or other ancient worthy, he often described his genius 

1 Quoted by Mr. Dyce. 



AKENSIDE. XXV11 

and character with elegance and fervour. He possessed 
large stores of historical learning, which he applied with 
brilliancy and effect. In his own house the lordliness of 
manner might not be lessened ; but a visitor, who humoured 
his caprice, found himself abundantly repaid when the 
poet opened his portfolio, and tastefully illustrated the 
Italian and Dutch painters. 

He had no wit, and seldom took a jest complacently; 
the same remark is true of his writings, where he appears 
uniformly grave and dignified. The severity of Juvenal 
suited him better than the playfulness of Horace. But an 
instance of a more placable temper is given by Sir John 
Hawkins : " Saxby, of the Custom-house, who was every 
evening at ' Toms', and by the bluntness of his behaviour 
and the many shrewd sayings he was used to utter, had 
acquired the privilege of Thersites of saying whatever he 
would, was once, in my hearing, inveighing against the 
profession of physic, which Akenside took upon him to 
defend. This railer, after labouring to prove that it was 
all imposture, concluded his discourse with this sentiment : 
6 Doctor,' said he, ' after all you have said, my opinion of 
the profession of physic is this — the ancients endeavoured 
to make it a science and failed, and the moderns to make 
it a trade, and have succeeded.' Akenside took his sarcasm 
in good part, and joined in the laugh which it occasioned." 
Had the company forgotten the "well-natured" Garth, of 
whom it was said, " j^o physician knew his Art more, or 
his Trade less " ? 

The evenings at ' Toms', which was a coffee-house in 
Devereux- court, much frequented by the "Wits," did not 
always end so agreeably. Hawkins tells the story : Among 
the usual guests, was a lawyer — short, ugly, clever, vulgar, 
and without practice ; his name was Ballow, and he wore 
a long sword. The poet and the lawyer never agreed. 
Ballow took the government side, and Akenside the re- 
publican. On a certain evening the dispute grew furious, 



XXV111 AKENSIDE. 

and the poet challenged his opponent ; neither, however, 
had any real desire to fight, and the quarrel was settled 
by friends. 

In early life, Akenside, like Pope and Cowper, made 
some efforts with the pencil ; and his love of Art never for- 
sook him. Mr. Bucke had an acquaintance, one Mr. Mey- 
rick, who died in 1807, aged eighty years ; being an apo- 
thecary, he had frequent opportunities of meeting Aken- 
side, of whose architectural taste he furnished an interest- 
ing anecdote. He occasionally " caught him contemplating 
with great earnestness the exterior of Westminster Abbey. 
He would frequently sit, of a fine moonlight night, on the 
benches of St. James's Park, gazing on the sublime struc- 
ture ; and I remember," Mr. Meyrick added, " that he 
seldom thought of the passage in his own poem, 

The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp, 
but he recollected a still finer one in Pope's " Homer," 
" As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night." 

A poet may be consoled under the lash of a critic, and 
even a critic be awakened to a dim sense of fallibility, by 
remembering that the verses of Pope, which Akenside 
applauded, were denounced by Wordsworth as false, con- 
tradictory, and absurd. 

Akenside was always ready to commend the genius of 
his contemporaries, wherever he found it. Mr. Meyrick 
possessed his copy of the "Castle of Indolence," in which 
several passages were marked with special admiration ; 
and particularly the lovely stanza beginning, 

I care not. Fortune, what you me deny. 

With Armstrong, a friend of Thomson, he was ac- 
quainted ; and "The Art of Health" appeared in the 
same year as " The Pleasures of Imagination." The two 
poets did not, however, harmonise in feeling ; for if Aken- 



AKENSIDE. XXIX 

side was pompous, Armstrong was sleepy. But each might 
appreciate the gifts of the other ; and no man of taste 
could read without delight Armstrong's sublime apostrophe 
to the rivers of the earth, which, in the opinion of Mr. 
Cary, has a more majestic sound, and fills the mind with 
grander images, than the corresponding paragraph in 
Thomson. These lines are noble, indeed :— 

I hear the din 
Of waters thund'ring o'er the ruin'd cliffs. 
With holy reverence I approach the rocks 
Where glide the streams renowned in ancient song. 
Here from the desert, down the rumbling steep, 
First springs the Nile ; here bursts the sounding Po 
In angry waves ; Euphrates hence devolves 
A mighty flood to water half the East ; 
And there, in Grothic solitude reclin'd, 
The cheerless Tanais pours his hoary urn. 
What solemn twilight ! what stupendous shades 
Enwrap these infant floods. Through every nerve 
A sacred horror thrills ; a pleasing fear 
Glides o'er my frame. The forest deepens round ; 
And more gigantic still th' impending trees 
Stretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloom. 
Are these the confines of another world ? 

Among the friends of Akenside were the poet Dyer, Dr. 
Heberden, and Mr. Tyrwhitt. There was, in 1757, another 
physician, abiding in London, who, by a little fame as a 
poet, and a little practice as a doctor, " made a shift to 
live,*' and whose pale melancholy visage, with two great 
wrinkles between the eye -brows, crowned by a long wig, 1 
might even have confronted the frown of Akenside. IN~o 
trace, however, is found of his intimacy with Goldsmith. 
Smollet ridiculed Akenside, but, at a later period, he ac- 
knowledges his excellence in didactic poetry. 

Chaucer has told us of a doctor of physic, that his study 
" was little in the Bible," and the religious opinions of 

1 See the letter to Key. Henry Goldsmith. 1759. 



XXX AKEKSIDE. 

Akenside do not seem to have been more emphatic than his 
predecessor's. He was by name a Dissenter, but some finer 
veins of philosophy and imagination enriched his creed. 
Everywhere in his verses we recognise a majestic and 
ruling faith in GJ-od's magnificence, and in man's privilege 
of copying Him : — 

The winds 

And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, 

The elements and seasons : — all declare 

For what the eternal Maker has ordained 

The pow'rs of man ; we feel within ourselves 

His energy divine ; he tells the heart, 

He meant, he made us to behold and love 

What he beholds and loves, the general orb 

Of life and being ; to be great like Him, 

Beneficent and active. Thus the men, 

"Whom nature's works can charm, with Grod himself 

Hold converse ; grow familiar day by day, 

With His conceptions, act upon His plan ; 

And form to His the relish of their souls. 

The censure by Mr. Walker, which Johnson adopted 
and praised, is altogether unfounded. The "immortality 
of the soul" is most distinctly and repeatedly affirmed. 
" Where," the poet asks, 

does the soul 

Consent her soaring fancy to restrain, 
Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings, 
Destined for highest heaven ? 

And again : — 

Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye, 
Through the fair toys and ornaments of earth, 
Discerns the nobler life reserv'd for heaven. 

The same spirit animates his indignant remonstrance in 
the " British Philippic :"— 

How greatly welcome to the virtuous man 

Is death for other's good ! The radiant thoughts 

That beam celestial on his passing soul, 



AKEtfSIDE. XXXI 

The unfading crowns awaiting him above, 
The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme, 
Who in his actions with complacence views 
His own reflected splendour. 

And, with a more devotional reverence, he bids Science 

Yeil thy daring eye ; 
Nor dive too deep, nor soar too high, 

In that divine abyss ; 
To Faith content thy beams to lend, 
Her hopes t' assure, her steps befriend, 

And light her way to bliss. 

We may confidently receive the assurance of Sir John 
Hawkins, that Akenside was a man of religion and strict 
virtue. However imperfect his belief, or its exposition, 
might be, a religions sentiment — noble and solemn — per- 
vades the Poem. The present life is shown as an avenue 
to the future ; while the beauty and the grandeur of 
nature, the shadow of God Himself, are most impressively 
displayed ; presenting to the reader, if I may so apply the 
language of Alison, a key to interpret the splendid system 
of material signs that surrounds him ; and teaching him to 
look upon the world, not alone as the abode of human 
cares or joys, but as the temple of the Living God, in 
which praise is due and where service is performed. 

Akenside's poetical claims are twofold; as a writer of 
blank verse and of odes. Johnson could not read through 
the "Pleasures of Imagination," but readers of the poem 
are found, and its fame is secured. Warton considered 
Akenside to be the best Greek scholar since Milton ; and 
the most exquisite decorations of his fancy have a 
classical origin. Take, for example, the description of 
Venus, which has the charm and the grace of an antique 

gem:— 

she stood 

Effulgent on the pearly car, and smil'd, 

Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form, 



XXX11 AKENSIDE. 

To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells, 
And each cserulean sister of the flood 
With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves 
To seek th' Idalian bower. 

He has used his scientific knowledge with equal skill : 
and I suppose that the simile of the double sun — the 
true and the reflected — is not surpassed in English 
poetry:— 

As when a cloud 
Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice 
Enclosed, and obvious to the beaming sun, 
Collects his large effulgence, straight the heavens 
With equal flames present on either hand 
The radiant visage ; Persia stands at gaze 
Appall' d ; and on the brink of Granges doubts 
The snowy- vested seer, in Mithra's name, 
To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, 
To which his warbled orisons ascend. 

It must be confessed that while the eye and the under- 
standing are thus entertained and informed, the heart and 
the feelings are neglected. The lover clasping the urn, 
and the children shrinking from the fireside story, are 
among the few pictures of human interest which the 
Poet has given to us. His beauties are of a different kind. 
They belong to fancy and taste, which, in the words of 
Addison, make everything about them clear and lovely. 
He has sentiments of moral dignity that ennoble the 
mind; and images that dart a lustre through a whole 
sentence. 

The language of Akenside is, in the highest degree, 
luxuriant; it clusters about a metaphor with a blinding 
beauty, like a flower too thick with blossom, and often con- 
cealing the vase which it should embellish. Perhaps some 
obscurity was inseparable from the subject. He, who 
shows the construction of the mind, may not always be 
able to exhibit the fine nerve of sensation which he 
detects. 



AKEXSIDE. XXXUI 

Mrs. Barbauld observes that, as a versifier, lie is 
most admirable ; excelling Thomson in pomp and music, 
and only inferior to Milton in a few of his finest passages. 
In the "Hymn to the Naiads," he has drawn out the 
sweetest notes which the English Muse can utter. What 
a charm breathes from the following lines : — - 
Arethusa fair, 

And tuneful Aganippe ; that sweet name 

Bandusia ; that soft family that dwelt 

With Syrian Daphne, and the hallow'd tribes 

Beloved of Paeon. 

Here the pause is continually varied, and always with 
delicious effect. 

In reading his odes we should remember their dates. 
Gray and Collins had not revived the beauty of lyric 
song, and the richer melodies of the former century 
were nearly forgotten. Johnson exclaimed in one of 
his paroxysms of spleen — "I see they have published a 
splendid edition of Akensicle's works. One bad ode may 
be suffered, but a number of them together makes one 
sick." We know the name of that poem, which, frequently 
perused, was to cause the death of Miss Seward in a surfeit 
of bad taste. The odes of Akenside will not unpleasantly 
affect a reader who appreciates good sense, clear language, 
and musical expression. Occasionally the true poet is 
manifested in all his power, as in the Ode on the " Winter 
Solstice," where the sketch of the village-dame, sighing when 
she hears the curfew, and recollecting that the moon has 
gone down, while her husband is still on the road, is most 
pathetic and pleasing. A stanza in the verses to the 
" Cuckoo" is also extremely grateful to the ear : — 

The time has been when I have frown' d 
To hear thy voice the woods invade : 
And while thy solemn accents drown'd 
Some sweeter poet of the shade ; — 
Thus thought I, thus, the sons of care, 
Some constant youth, or generous fair, 
"With dull advice upbraid, 



XXXIV AKENSIDE. 

I would mention, too, the Ode to the "Evening Star," 
and particularly the verses on the Nightingale, as very 
natural and elegant : — 

But hark ! I hear her liquid tone, — 

Now, Hesper, guide my feet 
Down the red marie with moss o'ergrown, 
Through yon wild thicket next the plain, 
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane 

Which leads to her retreat. 

See the green space : on either hand 

Enlarged it spreads around ; 
See, in the midst she takes her stand, 
Where one old oak his awful shade 
Extends o'er half the level mead, 

Enclosed in woods profound. 

Hark, how through many a melting note 

She now prolongs her lays ; 
How sweetly down the void they float ! 
The breeze their magic path attends, 
The stars shine out, the forest bends, 

The wakeful heifers gaze. 

sacred bird, let me at eve, 

Thus wandering all alone, 
Thy tender counsel oft receive, 
Bear witness to thy pensive airs, 
And pity Nature's common cares 

Till I forget my own. 

When Akenside ended his career, he had not gone far 
beyond the age which Dry den calls the summer tropic, 
and the long, warm, ripening day of autumn yet lingered. 
But there is no reason for believing that time would have 
mellowed his genius, or imparted to it a richer flavour. 
Experience, which develops judgment, often chills fancy ; 
and Akenside, even at the beginning of his poetical life, 
had been singularly patient and laborious. " I am filing 
and retouching every day," was his confession to a friend. 
The habit grew on him, and, accordingly, we miss in his 



AKEKSIDE. XXXV 

later style tlie glow of his earlier pencil. His real strength 
lay in the poetry of eloquence and description ; and 
Hurdis, the friend of Cowper, did not ill-characterize the 
poet, when he invoked him :— 

Be thou our guest,' 
Impetuous Akenside, some gloomy eve, 
"When the red lightning scarce begins to glare, 
And the mute thunder hardly deigns to growl. 
Rais'd by thy torrent song, we shall enjoy 
The loud increasing horrors of the storm, 
Awfully grand. 



XXXIV AKENSIDE. 

I would mention, too, the Ode to the "Evening Star," 
and particularly the verses on the Nightingale, as very 
natural and elegant : — 

But hark ! I hear her liquid tone, — 

Now, Hesper, guide my feet 
Down the red marie with moss o'ergrown, 
Through yon wild thicket next the plain, 
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane 

Which leads to her retreat. 

See the green space : on either hand 

Enlarged it spreads around ; 
See, in the midst she takes her stand, 
Where one old oak his awful shade 
Extends o'er half the level mead, 

Enclosed in woods profound. 

Hark, how through many a melting note 

She now prolongs her lays ; 
How sweetly down the void they float ! 
The breeze their magic path attends, 
The stars shine out, the forest bends, 

The wakeful heifers gaze. 

sacred bird, let me at eve, 

Thus wandering all alone, 
Thy tender counsel oft receive, 
Bear witness to thy pensive airs, 
And pity Nature's common cares 

Till I forget my own. 

When Akenside ended his career, he had not gone far 
beyond the age which Dry den calls the summer tropic, 
and the long, warm, ripening day of autumn yet lingered. 
But there is no reason for believing that time would have 
mellowed his genius, or imparted to it a richer flavour. 
Experience, which develops judgment, often chills fancy ; 
and Akenside, even at the beginning of his poetical life, 
had been singularly patient and laborious. " I am filing 
and retouching every day," was his confession to a friend. 
The habit grew on him, and, accordingly, we miss in his 



AKEKSIDE. XXXV 

later style the glow of his earlier pencil. His real strength 
lay in the poetry of eloquence and description ; and 
Hurdis, the friend of Cowper, did not ill- characterize the 
poet, when he invoked him : — 

Be thou our guest,' 
Impetuous Akenside, some gloomy eve, 
"When the red lightning scarce begins to glare, 
And the mute thunder hardly deigns to growl. 
Rais'd by thy torrent song, we shall enjoy 
The loud increasing horrors of the storm, 
Awfully grand. 



THE 







POEMS OF tajNSIDE :'%>' 



THE PLEASUEES OF B 

91 Point, m £§rw 33nofcs. 

'Aastov jikv iariv avOpWTrov rdc irapa rov Qeov x^pirag 
ccTLfA&Zeiv. Epict. apud Arrian. II. 23, 

THE DESIGN. 

There are certain powers in human nature which, seem to hold 
a middle place between the organs of bodily sense and the faculties 
of moral perception : they have been called by a very general name, 
the Powers of Imagination. Like the external senses, they relate 
to matter and motion ; and, at the same time, give the mind ideas 
analogous to those of moral approbation and dislike. As they are 
the inlets of some of the most exquisite pleasures with which we 
are acquainted, it has naturally happened that men of warm and 
sensible tempers hare sought means to recal the delightful percep- 
tions which they afford, independent of the objects which originally 
produced them. This gave rise to the imitative or designing arts ; 
some of which, as painting and sculpture, directly copy the external 
appearances which were admired in nature ; others, as music and 
poetry, bring them back to remembrance by signs universally 
established and understood. 

But these arts, as they grew more correct and deliberate, were of 
course led to extend their imitation beyond the peculiar objects of 
the imaginative powers ; especially poetry, which, making use of 
language as the instrument by which it imitates, is consequently 
become an unlimited representative of every species and mode of 
being. Yet as their intention was only to express the objects of 
imagination, and as they still abound chiefly in ideas of that class, 
they of course retain their original character : and all the different 

B 



2 AKE^SIDE. 

pleasures which they excite, are termed, in general, Pleasures of 
Imagination. 

The design of the following poem is to give a view of these in the 
largest acceptation of the term ; so that whatever our imagination 
feels from the agreeable appearances of nature, and all the various 
entertainment we meet with either in poetry, painting, music, or 
any of the elegant arts, might be deducible from one or other of 
those principles in the constitution of the human mind which are 
here established and explained. 

In executing this general plan, it was necessary first of all to dis- 
tinguish the imagination from our other faculties ; and in the next 
place to characterize those original forms or properties of being, 
about which it is conversant, and which are by nature adapted 
to it, as light is to the eyes, or truth to the understanding. These 
properties Mr. Addison had reduced to the three general classes of 
greatness, novelty, and beauty ; and into these we may analyze 
every object, however complex, which, properly speaking, is 
delightful to the imagination. But such an object may also include 
many other sources of pleasure ; and its beauty, or novelty, or 
grandeur, will make a stronger impression by reason of this con- 
currence. Besides which, the imitative arts, especially poetry, owe 
much of their effect to a similar exhibition of properties quite 
foreign to the imagination, insomuch that in every line of the most 
applauded poems, we meet with either ideas drawn from the ex- 
ternal senses, or truths discovered to the understanding, or illus- 
trations of contrivance and final causes, or, above all the rest, with 
circumstances proper to awaken and engage the passions. It was 
therefore necessary to enumerate and exemplify these different 
species of pleasure ; especially that from the passions, which, as it 
is supreme in the noblest work of human genius, so being in some 
particulars not a little surprising, gave an opportunity to enliven 
the didactic turn of the poem, by introducing an allegory to account 
for the appearance. 

After these parts of the subject which hold chiefly of admiration, 
or naturally warm and interest the mind, a pleasure of a very 
different nature, that which arises from ridicule, came next to be 
considered. As this is the foundation of the comic manner in all the 
arts, and has been but very imperfectly treated by moral writers, it 
was thought proper to give it a particular illustration, and to dis- 
tinguish the general sources from which the ridicule of characters 
is derived. Here, too, a change of style became necessary ; such 
a one as might yet be consistent, if possible, with the general taste 



THE PLEASURES OF MAGIXATIOjS". 6 

of composition in the serious parts of the subject: nor is it an easy 
task to give any tolerable force to images of this kind, without 
running either into the gigantic expressions of the mock heroic, or 
the familiar and poetic raillery of professed satire ; neither of which 
would have been proper here. 

The materials of all imitation being thus laid open, nothing now 
remained but to illustrate some particular pleasures which arise 
either from the relations of different objects one to another, or from 
the nature of imitation itself. Of the first kind is that various and 
complicated resemblance existing between several parts of the mate- 
rial and immaterial worlds, which is the foundation of metaphor 
and wit. As it seems in a great measure to depend on the early 
association of our ideas, and as this habit of associating is the 
source of many pleasures and pains in life, and on that account 
bears a great share in the influence of poetry and the other arts, it 
is therefore mentioned here and its effects described. Then follows 
a general account of the production of these elegant arts, and of the 
secondary pleasure, as it is called, arising from the resemblance of 
their imitations to the original appearances of nature. After which, 
the work concludes with some reflections on the general conduct of 
the powers of imagination, and on their natural and moral useful- 
ness in life. 

Concerning the manner or turn of composition which prevails in 
this piece, little can be said with propriety by the author. He had 
two models ; that ancient and simple one of the first Grecian poets, 
as it is refined by Virgil in the Greorgics, and the familiar epistolary 
way of Horace. This latter has several advantages. It admits of 
a greater variety of style ; it more readily engages the generality of 
readers, as partaking more of the air of conversation ; and, espe- 
cially with the assistance of rhyme, leads to a closer and more 
concise expression. Add to this the example of the most perfect of 
modern poets, who has so happily applied this manner to the noblest 
parts of philosophy, that the public taste is in a great measure 
formed to it alone. Yet, after all, the subject before us, tending 
almost constantly to admiration and enthusiasm, seemed rather to 
demand a more open, pathetic, and figured style. This, too, ap- 
peared more natural, as the author's aim was not so much to give 
formal precepts, or enter into the way of direct argumentation, as, 
by exhibiting the most engaging prospects of nature, to enlarge and 
harmonize the imagination, and by that means insensibly dispose 
the minds of men to a similar taste and habit of thinking in religion, 
morals, and civil life. 'Tis on this account that he is so careful to 

B 2 



4 AKEXSIDE. 

point out the benevolent intention of the Author of nature in every 
principle of the human constitution here insisted on ; and also to 
unite the moral excellencies of life in the same point of view with 
the mere external objects of good taste ; thus recommending them 
in common to our natural propensity for admiring what is beautiful 
and lovely. The same views have also led him to introduce some 
sentiments which may perhaps be looked upon as not quite direct 
to the subject; but since they bear an obvious relation to it, the 
authority of Virgil, the faultless model of didactic poetry, will best 
support him in this particular. For the sentiments themselves he 
makes no apology. 

BOOK I. 

ARGUMENT. 

The subject proposed — Difficulty of treating it poetically — The 
ideas of the divine mind, the origin of every quality pleasing to the 
imagination — The natural variety of constitution in the minds of 
men ; with its final cause — The idea of a fine imagination, and the 
state of the mind in the enjoyment of those pleasures which it 
affords— All the primary pleasures of the imagination result from 
the perception of greatness, or wonderfulness, or beauty in objects 
— The pleasure from greatness, with its final cause — Pleasure 
from novelty or wonderfulness, with its final cause — Pleasure from 
beauty, with its final cause — The connexion of beauty with truth 
and good, applied to the conduct of life — Invitation to the study 
of moral philosophy — The different degrees of beauty in different 
species of objects : colour, shape, natural concretes, vegetables, 
animals, the mind — The sublime, the fair, the wonderful of the 
mind — The connexion of the imagination and the moral faculty — 
Conclusion. 

With what attractive 1 cliarms this goodly frame 

Of nature touches the consenting hearts 

Of mortal men : and what the pleasing stores 

Which beauteous Imitation thence derives 

To Heck the poet's, or the painter's toil; 

My verse unfolds. Attend, ye gentle powers 

Of musical 2 delight! and while I sing 

Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain. 

Thou, smiling queen of every tuneful breast, 

i Prevailing. Tirikerton. 

2 " The word m udcalia here taken in its original and most extensive import ; 
comprehending as well the pleasures we receive from the beauty or magni- 
ficence of natural objects, as those which arise from poetry, painting, music, 
or any other of the elegant and imaginative arts. In which sense it has 
already been used in our language by writers of unquestionable authority." 
— Akenside ; Note to thejlrst edition. 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. O 

Indulgent Fancy ! from the fruitful banks 
Of Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cull 
Fresh, flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf 
Where Shakespeare lies, be present : and with thee 
Let Fiction come, upon her vagrant wings 
Wafting ten thousand colours through the air, 
Which, by the glances of her magic eye, 
She blends and shifts at will, through countless forms, 
Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre, 
Which rules the accents of the moving sphere, 
Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend 
And join this festive train? for with thee comes, 
The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports, 
Majestic Truth ; and where Truth deigns to come, 
Her sister Liberty will not be far. 
Be present all ye Genii, who conduct 
The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard, 
New to your springs and shades : who touch his ear 
With finer 1 sounds : who heighten to his eye 
The bloom 2 of Nature, and before him turn 
The gayest, happiest attitude of things. 3 
Oft have the laws of each poetic strain 
The critic -verse employ 'd ; yet still unsung 
Lay this prime subject, though importing most 
A poet's name : for fruitless is the attempt, 
By dull obedience and by creeping toil 
Obscure to conquer the severe ascent 
Of high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breath 
Must fire the chosen genius ; Nature's hand 
Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle- wings 
Impatient of the painful steep, to soar 
High as the summit ; there to breathe at large 
.^Ethereal air : with bards and sages old, 
Immortal sons of praise. These Mattering scenes, 
To this neglected labour court my song ; 
Yet not unconscious what a doubtful task 
To paint the finest features of the mind, 
And to most subtile and mysterious things 
Give colour, strength, and motion. But the love 
Of Nature and the Muses bids explore, 
Through secret paths erewhile untrod by man, 
The fair poetic region, to detect 
Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts, 4 

1 Nobler.— P. 2 Pomp.— P. s Fairest, loftiest.— P. 

4 Akenside imitates the famous lines of Lucretius, which Addison had 
prefixed to his first paper on the Pleasures of Imagination. — Spectator. 
Kb. 411.— W. 



ATvEjS'SIDE. 

And shade my temples with unfading flowers 
Cull'd from the laureate vale's profound recess, 
Where never poet gain'd a wreath before. 

From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven 
descends 
The flame of genius to the human breast, 
And love and beauty, and poetic joy 
And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun 
Sprang from the east, or 'mid. the vault of night 
The moon suspended her serener lamp ; 
Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the 

globe, 
Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore ; 
Then liv'd the Almighty One: then, deep-retir'd 
In his unfathom'd essence, view'd the forms, 
The forms eternal of created things ; 
The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp, 
The mountains, woods and streams, the rolling globe, 
And Wisdom's mien celestial. Erom the first 
Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd, 
His admiration : till in time complete 
What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital smile 
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath 
Of life informing each organic frame, 
Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves ; 
Hence light and shade alternate ; warmth and cold ; 
And clear autumnal sides* and vernal showers, 
And all the fair variety of things. 

But not alike to every mortal eye 
Is this great scene unveil'd. Eor since the claims 
Of social life, to different labours urge 
The active powers of man ; with wise intent 
The hand of Nature on peculiar minds 
Imprints a different bias, and to each 
Decrees its province in the common toil. 
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, 
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, 
The golden zones of heaven : to some she gave 
To weigh the moment of eternal things, 
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain, 
And will's quick impulse : others by the hand 
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore 
What healing virtue swells the tender veins 
Of herbs and flowers ; or what the beams of morn 
Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. 7 

In balmy tears. But some to higher hopes 1 
Were destin'd ; some within' a finer mould 
She wrought, and tempered with a purer name. 
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds 
The world's harmonious volume, there to read 
The transcript of Himself. On every part 
They trace the bright impressions of his hand ; 
In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores, 
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin form 
Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portray'd 2 
That uncreated beauty, which delights 
The Mind Supreme. They also feel her charms, 
Enamour'd ; they partake the eternal joy. 

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd 
By fabling JNllus, to the quivering touch 
Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string 
Consenting, sounded through the warbling air 
Unbidden strains : even so did Nature's hand 
To certain species of external things, 
Attune the finer organs of the mind ; 
So the glad impulse of congenial powers, 
Or the sweet sound, or fair proportioned form, 
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light, 
Thrills through Imagination's tender frame, 
From nerve to nerve : all naked and alive 
They catch the spreading rays ; till now the soul 
At length discloses every tuneful spring, 
To that harmonious movement from without ■ 
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain 
Diffuses its enchantment : Fancy dreams 
Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves, 
And vales of bliss : the intellectual Power 
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear, 
And smiles : the passions, gently sooth'd away, 

1 The poet Bloomfield was a warm admirer of Akenside. "There are 
many parts of his great poem," he said to Mr. Bucke, "that I do not com- 
prehend; but what I do understand, I cannot express my admiration of. I 
never read his poem till after I had written my own; but I think I must have 
somewhere seen this passage — 

' Some to higher hopes 

Were destined/ &c. 

I never read these lines, but I feel myself, for the moment, a poet of a far 
superior order than that to which I really belong."— W. 

2 Erase 106th line, and read — 

As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan. 
These lineaments of beauty which delight. — P. 



AKEWSIDE. 

Sink to divine repose, and love and joy 
Alone are waking ; love and joy, serene 
As airs that fan the summer. O ! attend, 
Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch, 1 
Whose candid bosom the refining love 
Of Nature warms, O ! listen to my song ; 
And I will guide thee to her favourite walks, 
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear, 
And paint her loveliest features to thy view. 

Know then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores, 
Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected forms 
With love and admiration thus inflame 
The powers of Fancy, her delighted sons 
To three illustrious orders have referr'd ; 
Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand, 
The poet's tongue confesses ; the sublime, 
The wonderful, the fair. I see them dawn ! 
I see the radiant visions, where they rise 
More lovely than when Lucifer displays 
His beaming forehead through the gates of morn, 
To lead the train of Phcebus and the spring. 

Say, why was man so eminently rais'd 2 
Amid the vast Creation ; why ordain' d 
Through life and death to dart his piercing eye, 
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ; 3 
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth 
In sight of mortal and immortal powers, 
As on a boundless theatre, to run 



1 Move.— P. 

2 " The passage of which the thought is borrowed from Longinus, e say why- 
was man/ &c, is almost unequalled in grandeur of thought and loftiness of 
expression, yet it has not the appearance, as some other parts of the Poem 
have, of being laboured into excellence, but rather of being thrown off at 
once amidst the swell and fervency of a kindled imagination." — Barbauld' s 
Essay on Pleasures, Sfc, p. 11. — W. 

3 In apologizing for the frequent negligences of the sublimest authors of 
Greece, "Those god-like geniuses," says Longinus, "were well assured that 
Nature had not intended man for a low-spirited or ignoble being ; but bring- 
ing us into life and the midst of this wide universe, as before a multitude 
at some heroic solemnity, that we might be spectators of all her magnificence, 
and candidates high in emulation for the prize of glory ; she has, therefore, 
implanted in our souls an inextinguishable love of everything great and 
exalted, of everything which appears divine beyond our comprehension. 
Whence it comes to pass, that even the whole world is not an object sufficient 
for the depth and rapidity of human imagination, which often sallies forth 
beyond the limits of all that surrounds us. Let any man cast his eye through 
the whole circle of our existence, and consider how especially it abounds 
in excellent and grand objects, he will soon acknowledge for what enjoyments 
and pursuits we were destined. Thus by the very propensity of nature we 
are led to admire, not little springs or shallow rivulets, however clear and 
delicious, but the Wile, the Ehine, the Danube, and, much more than all, 
the Ocean," &c. — Dionys. Longin de Sublim. § xxiv. 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. V 

The great career of justice ; to exalt 

His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; 

To chase each partial purpose from his breast ; 

And through the mists of passion and«of sense, 

And through the tossing tide of chance and pain, 

To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice 

Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent 

Of nature, calls him to his high reward, 

The applauding smile of Heaven? Else wherefore 

burns 
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, 
That 1 breathes from day to day sublimer things, 
And mocks possession ? wherefore darts the mind, 
With such resistless ardour to embrace 
Majestic forms ; impatient to be free, 
Spurning the gross control of wilful might ; 
Proud of the strong contention of her toils : 
Proud to be daring ? Who but rather turns 
To heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view, 
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ? 
Who that, from Alpine 2 heights, his labouring eye 
Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey 
Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave 3 
Thro' mountains, plains, thro' empires black with 

shade, 
And continents of sand, — will turn his gaze 
To mark the windings of a scanty rill 
That 4 murmurs at his feet? The high-born soul 
Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing 
Beneath its native quarry. Tir'd of earth 
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 
Through fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ; 
!Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens ; 
Or, yok'd with whirlwinds and the northern blast, 
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars 
The blue profound, and hovering round the sun 
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 
Of light ; beholds his unrelenting sway 
Bend the reluctant plaDets to absolve 
The fated rounds of Time. Thence far effiis'd 5 
She darts her swiftness up the long career 
Of devious comets ; through its burning signs 
Exulting measures the perennial wheel 

1 Wliicli.— P. 2 Mid-air.— P. 

3 Eoll his glittering tide.— P. * Which.— P. 

5 Sallying forth. — P. 



10 AKE^SIDE. 

Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars, 
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone, 
Invests the orient. Now amaz'd she views 
The empyreal waste, 1 where happy spirits hold, 
Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode ; 
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light 2 
Has travell'd the profound six thousand years, 
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things. 
Even on the barriers of the world untir'd 
She meditates the eternal depth below ; 
Till half recoiling, down the headlong steep 
She plunges ; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallowed up 
In that immense of being. There her hopes 
[Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth 
Of mortal man, the Sovereign Maker said, 
That not in humble nor in brief delight, 
Not in the fading echoes of renown, 
Power's purple robes, nor pleasure's flowery lap, 
The soul should find enjoyment : but from these 
Turning disdainful to an equal good, 
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view, 
Till every bound at length should disappear, 
And infinite perfection close the scene. 3 

Call now to mind what high capacious powers 
Lie folded up in man ; how far beyond 
The praise of mortals, may the eternal growth 
Of Nature to perfection half divine, 
Expand the blooming soul ? What pity then 
Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth 
Her tender blossom ; choke the streams of life, 
And blast her spring ! Ear otherwise design'd 
Almighty Wisdom ; Nature's happy cares 
The obedient heart far otherwise incline. 
Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown 

1 " ]^e se peut-il point qu'il y a un grand espace au-dela de la region des 
etoiles ? Que ee soit le ciel empyree, on. non, toujours cet espace immense 
qui environne toute cette region, pourra etre rempli de bonheur et de gloire. 

11 pourra etre eoncu comme 1' ocean, ou se rendent les fleuves de toutes les 
creatures bienheureuses quand elles seront venues a leur perfection dans 
le systeme des etoiles." — Leibnitz dans la Theodicee, part. i. § 19. 

2 It was a notion of the great Mr. Huyghens, that there may be fixed stars 
at such a distance from our solar system, as that their light should not have 
had time to reach us, even from the" creation of the world to this day. 

3 " One of the final causes of our delight in anything that is great, may be 
this. The Supreme Author of our being has so formed the soul of man, that 
nothing but Himself can be its last, adequate, and proper happiness. Be- 
cause, therefore, a great part of our happiness must arise from the contem- 
plation of his Being, that he might give our souls a just relish of such a 
contemplation, he has made them naturally delight in the apprehension of 
what is great or un li mited." — Addison, Spectator, Xo. 413. — W. 



THE PLEASUKES OE IMAGINATION. 11 

Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power 

To brisker measures : witness the neglect 

Of all familiar prospects, 1 though beheld 

With transport once ; the fond attentive gaze 

Of young astonishment ; the sober zeal 

Of age, commenting on prodigious things. 

For such the bounteous providence of heaven, 

In every breast implanting this desire 2 

Of objects new and strange, to urge us on 

With unremitted labour to pursue 

Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul, 

In Truth's exhaustless bosom. What need words 3 

To paint its power P For this the daring youth 

Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms, 

1 It is here said, 4hat in consequence of the love of novelty, objects which 
at first were highly delightful to the mind, lose that effect by repeated atten- 
tion to them. But the instance of habit is opposed to this observation ; for 
there, objects at first distasteful, are in time rendered entirely agreeable by 
repeated attention. 

The difficulty in this case will be removed, if we consider, that when objects, 
at first agreeable, lose that influence by frequently recurring, the mind is wholly 
passive, and the perception involuntary; but habit, on the other hand, gene- 
rally supposes choice and activity accompanying it; so that the pleasure 
arises here, not from the object, but from the mind's conscious determination 
of its own activity ; and consequently increases in proportion to the fre- 
quency of that determination. 

It will still be urged, perhaps, that a familiarity with disagreeable objects 
renders them at length accex^table, even when there is no room for the mind to 
resolve or act at all. In this case, the appearance must be accounted for 
in one of these ways. 

The pleasure from habit may be merely negative. The object at first 
gave uneasiness; this uneasiness gradually wears off as the object grows 
familiar; and the mind, finding it at last entirely removed, reckons its 
situation really pleasurable, compared with what it had experienced before. 

The dislike conceived of the object at first, might be owing to prejudice 
or want of attention. Consequently, the mind being necessitated to review it 
often, may at length perceive its own mistake, and be reconciled to what 
it had looked on with aversion. In which case, a sort of instinctive justice 
naturally leads to make amends for the injury, by running toward the 
other extreme of fondness and attachment. 

Or, lastly, though the object itself should always continue disagreeable, 
yet circumstances of pleasure or good fortune may occur along with it. 
Thus an association may arise in the mind, and the object never be re- 
membered without those pleasing circumstances attending it ; by which 
means the disagreeable impression which it at first occasioned will in time 
be quite obliterated. 

2 These two ideas are oft confounded ; though it is evident the mere 
novelty of an object makes it agreeable, even where the mind is not affected 
with the least degree of wonder; whereas wonder indeed always implies 
novelty, being never excited by common or well-known appearances. But 
the pleasure in both cases is explicable from the same final cause, the acquisi- 
tion of knowledge and enlargement of our views of nature ; on this account 
it is natural to treat of them together. 

3 We are told by Johnson, in his " Journey to the Western Islands," that 
" when the islanders were reproached with their ignorance or insensibility of 
the wonders of Staffa, they had not much to reply. They had, indeed, con- 
sidered it little, because they had always seen it ; and none but philosophers, 
nor they always, are struck with wonder, otherwise than Ixj novelty ." — W. 



12 AKE^SIDE. 

In foreign climes to rove : the pensive sage, 
Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp, 
Hangs o'er the sickly taper ; and nntir'd 
The virgin follows, with enchanted step, 
The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale, 
From morn to eve ; unmindful of her form, 
Unmindful of the happy dress that stole 
The wishes of the youth, when every maid 
With envy pin'd. Hence, finally, by night 
The village matron, round the blazing hearth, 
Suspends the infant audience with her tales, 
Breathing astonishment ! of witching rhymes, 
And evil spirits ; of the death-bed call 
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd 
The orphan's portion ; of unquiet souls 
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt 
Of deeds in life conceal' d ; of shapes that walk 
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave 
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed. 
At every solemn pause the crowd recoil, 
Grazing each other speechless, and congeal'd 
With shivering sighs : till eager for the event, 
Around the beldame all erect they hang, 
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd. 1 

But lo ! disclos'd in all her smiling pomp, 
Wliere Beauty onward moving claims the verse 
Her charms inspire : the freely-flowing verse 
In thy immortal praise, O form divine, 
Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, Beauty, thee 
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray 
The mossy roofs adore : thou, better sun ! 
For ever beamest on the enchanted heart 
Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight 
Poetic. 2 Brightest progeny of Heaven ! 
How shall I trace thy features ? where select 

1 Mrs. Barbauld remarks: — "The author had doubtless in his mind not 
only the Essays of Addison, which were immediately under his eye, but 
that passage in another paper, where he represents the circle at his land- 
lady's closing their ranks, and crowding round the fire at the conclusion of 
every story of ghosts. ' Around the beldam all erect they hang. Congealed 
with shivering sighs/ very happily expresses the effects of that kind of 
terror, which makes a man shrink into himself, and feel afraid, as it were, to 
draw a full inspiration." — W. 

2 " But there is nothing that makes its way more directly to the soul than 
beauty, which immediately diffuses a secret satisfaction and complacency 
through the imagination, and gives a finishing to everything that is great or 
uncommon. The very first discovery of it strikes the mind with an inward 
joy, and spreads a cheerfulness and delight through all its faculties." — 
Addison, Spectator, ISo. 412. — W. 




1 The village matron, round the blazing hearth, 
Suspends the infant audience with her tales, 
Breathing astonishment 1 "—Book i. p. 12. 



THE PLEASTIBES OF IMAGINATION". 13 

The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom ? 

Haste, then, my song, through Nature's wide expanse, 

Haste then, and gather all her comeliest wealth, 

Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains, 

Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, 

To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou fly 

With laughing Autumn to the Atlantic isles, 

And range with him the Hesperian field, and see 

Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, 

The branches shoot with gold ; where'er his step 

Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters grow 

With purple ripeness, and invest each hill 

As with the blushes of an evening sky ? 

Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume, 

Where gliding through his daughter's honour'd shades. 

The smooth Peneus from his glassy flood 

Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene ? 

Fair Tempe ! haunt belov'd of sylvan Powers, 

Of Nymphs and Fauns ; where in the golden age 

They play'd in secret on the shady brink 

With ancient Pan : while round their choral steps 

Young Hours and genial Gales with constant hand 

Shower'd blossoms, odours, shower'd ambrosial dews, 

And spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery store 

To thee nor Tempe shall refuse ; nor watch 

Of winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruits 

From thy free spoil. O bear then, unreprov'd, 

Thy smiling treasures to the green recess 

Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs 

Entice her forth to lend her angel form 

For Beauty's honour'd image. Hither turn 

Thy graceful footsteps ; hither, gentle maid, 

Incline thy polish'd forehead : let thy eyes 

Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn ; 

And may the fanning breezes waft aside 

Thy radiant locks : disclosing as it bends 

With airy softness from the marble neck, 

The cheek fair blooming, and the rosy lip, 

Where winning smiles and pleasures sweet as love, 

With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend 

Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force 

Of Nature, and her kind parental care 

Worthier I'd sing : then all the enamour'd youth, 

With each admiring virgin, to my lyre 

Should throng attentive, while I point on high 

Where Beauty's living image, like the Morn 



14 AKE]S T SIDE. 

That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May, 

Moves onward ; or as Venus, when she stood 

Effulgent on the pearly car, and smil'd, 

Eresh from the deep, and conscious of her form, 

To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells, 

And each cerulean sister of the flood 

With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves, 

To seek the Idalian bower. Ye smiling band 

Of youths and virgins, who through all the maze 

Of young desire with rival steps pursue 

This charm of Beauty ; if the pleasing toil 

Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn 

Your favourable ear, and trust my words. 

I do not mean to wake the gloomy form 

Of Superstition dressed in "Wisdom's garb 

To damp your tender hopes ; I do not mean 

To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens, 

Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth 

To fright you from your joys : my cheerful song 

With better omens calls you to the field, 

Pleas 'd with your generous ardour in the chase, 

And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know, 

Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where health 

And active use are strangers ? Is her charm 

Confess'd in aught, whose most peculiar ends 

Are lame and fruitless P Or did Nature mean 

This pleasing call the herald of a lie ; 

To hide the shame of discord and disease, 

And catch with fair hypocrisy the heart 

Of idle faith F O no ! with better cares 

The indulgent mother, conscious how infirm 

Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill, 

By this illustrious image, in each kind 

Still most illustrious where the object holds 

Its native powers most perfect, she by this 

Illumes the headstrong impulse of desire 

And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebe 

Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract 

Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul, 

The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense, 

And every charm of animated things, 

Are only pledges of a state sincere, 

The integrity and order of their frame, 

When all is well within, and every end 

Accomplished. Thus was Beauty sent from heaven, 

The lovely ministress of Truth and Good 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 10 

In this dark world : for Truth and G-ood are one, 1 

And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 

With like participation. Wherefore then, 

O sons of earth ! would ye dissolve the tie ? 

O wherefore, with a rash impetuous aim, 

Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand 

Of lavish Fancy paints each flattering scene 

"Where Beauty seems to dwell, nor once inquire 

Y\ nere is the sanction of eternal Truth, 

Or where the seal of undeceitful good, 

To save your search from folly ! Wanting these, 

Lo ! Beauty withers in your void embrace, 

And with the glittering of an idiot's toy 

Did Fancy mock your vows. ]N~or let the gleam 

1 " Do you imagine," says Socrates to Aristippus, "that what is good is 
not beautiful? Have you not observed that these appearances always 
coincide ? Virtue, for instance, in the same respect as to that which we call 
it good, is ever acknowledged "to be beautiful also. In the characters of 
men we always x join the two denominations together. The beauty of human 
bodies corresponds, in like manner, with that economy of parts 'which con- 
stitutes them good; and in every circumstance of life, the same object is 
constantly accounted both beautiful and good, inasmuch as it answers the 
purposes for which it was designed." — Xenophont. Memorab. Socrat. 1. iii. c. 8. 

This excellent observation has been illustrated and extended by the noble 
restorer of ancient philosophy ; seethe Characteristics, vol ii. pp. 339 and 
422, and vol. iii. p. 181. And another ingenious author has particularlv 
shown, that it holds in the general laws of nature, in the works of art, anal 
the conduct of the sciences. Inquiry into the original of our ideas of beauty 
and virtue, Treat, i. § 8. As to the connexion between beauty and truth, 
there are two opinions concerning it. Some philosophers assert an inde- 
pendent and invariable law in nature, in consequence of which all rational 
beings must alike perceive beauty in some certain proportions, and deformity 
in the contrary. And this necessity being supposed the same with that which 
commands the assent or dissent of the understanding, it follows of course 
that beauty is founded on the universal and unchangeable law of truth. 

But others there are, who believe beauty to be merely a relative and 
arbitrary thing; that indeed it was a benevolent provision in nature to 
annex so delightful a sensation to those objects which are best and most 
perfect in themselves, that so we might be engaged to the choice of them at 
once and without staying to infer their usefulness from their structure and 
effects ; but that it is not impossible, in a physical sense, that two beings, of 
equal capacities for truth, should perceive/ one of them beauty, and the 
other deformity, in the same proportions. And upon this supposition, by 
that truth which is always connected with beauty, nothing more can be 
meant than the conformity of any object to those proportions upon which, 
after careful examination, the beauty of that species is found to depend! 
Polycletus, for instance, a famous ancient sculptor, from an accurate men- 
suration of the several parts of the most perfect human bodies, deduced a 
canon or system of proportions, which was the rule of all succeeding artists. 
Suppose a statue modelled according to this : a man of mere natural taste, 
upon looking at it, without entering into its proportions, confesses and 
admires its beauty; whereas a professor of the art applies his measures 
to the head, the neck, or the hand, and, without attending to its beauty, 
pronounces the workmanship to be just and true. 



1 This the Athenians did in a peculiar manner, by the words KaXoxdyaebs 
and Ka,\oKay<x9ia. 



16 AKE^SIDE. 

Of youthful hope that shiues upou your hearts, 

[Be chill' d or clouded at this awful task, 

To learu the lore of un deceitful good, 

Aud truth eternal. Though the poisonous charms 

Of baleful Superstition guide the feet 

Of servile numbers, through a dreary way 

To their abode, through deserts, thorns, and mire ; 

And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn 

To muse at last, amid the ghostly gloom 

Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloister'd cells : 

To walk with spectres through the midnight shade, 

And to the screaming owl's accursed song 

Attune the dreadful workings of his heart ; 

Yet be not ye dismay 'd. A gentler star 

Your lovely search illumines. From the grove 

Where Wisdom talk'd with her Athenian sons, 

Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath 

Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay, 

Then should my powerful verse at once dispel 

Those monkish horrors : then in light divine 

Disclose the Elysian prospect, where the steps 

Of those whom Nature charms through blooming 

walks, 
Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams, 
Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards, 
Led by their winged Genius, and the choir 
Of laurell'd science and harmonious art, 
Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine, 
Where Truth conspicuous with her sister 1 twins, 
The undivided partners of her sway, 
With Good and Beauty reigns. O let not us, 
Lull'd by luxurious Pleasure's languid strain, 
Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage, 
O let us not a moment pause to join 
That godlike band. And if the gracious Power 
Who first awaken' d my untutor'd song, 
Will to my invocation breathe anew 
The tuneful spirit ; then through all our paths, 
jSTe'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre 
Be wanting : whether on the rosy mead, 
When summer smiles to warn the melting heart 
Of luxury's allurement ; whether firm 
Against the torrent and the stubborn hill 
To urge bold Virtue's unremitted nerve, 
And wake the strong divinity of soul 
That conquers chance and fate ; or whether struck 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAarffATIOK. 17 

For sounds of triumph to proclaim her toils 
Upon the lofty summit, round her brow 
To twine the wreath of incorruptive praise ; 
To trace her hallovr'd light through future worlds, 
And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man. 
Thus with a faithful aim have we presum'd, 
Adventurous, to delineate Nature's form ; 
Whether, in vast, majestic pomp array 'd, 
Or drest for pleasing wonder, or serene 
In Beauty's rosy smile. It now remains, 
Through various being's fair proportion'd scale, 
To trace the rising lustre of her charms. 
From their first twilight, shining forth at length 
To full meridian splendour. Of degree 
The least and lowliest, in the effusive warmth 
Of colours mingling with a random blaze, 
Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the line 
And variation of determin'd shape, 
Where Truth's eternal measures mark the bound 
Of circle, cube, or sphere. 1 The third ascent 
Unites this varied symmetry of parts 
With colour's bland allurement ; as the pearl 
Shines in the concave of its azure bed, 
And painted shells indent their speckled wreath. 
Then more attractive rise the blooming forms 
Through which the breath of Nature has infus'd 
Her genial power to draw with pregnant veins 
Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth, 
In fruit and seed prolific : thus the flowers 
Their purple honours with the Spring resume ; 
And such the stately tree which Autumn bends 
With blushing treasures. But more lovely still 
Is Nature's charm, where to the full consent 
Of complicated members, to the bloom 
Of colour, and the vital change of growth, 
Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given, 
And active motion speaks the temper'd soul : 
So moves the bird of Juno ; so the steed 
With rival ardour beats the dusty plain, 
And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy 
Salute their fellows. Thus doth Beauty dwell 
There most conspicuous, even in outward shape, 
Where dawns the high expression of a mind : 
By steps conducting our enraptur'd search 

1 See " Hutcheson's Inquiry concerning Beauty, Order, &e." Sect iii. of 
The Beauty of Theorems.— W. 

C 



IS AKENSTDE. 

To that eternal origin, whose power, 

Throngh all the unbounded symmetry of things, 

Like rays effulging from the parent sun, 

This endless mixture of her charms diffus'd. 

Mind, mind alone, (bear witness earth and heaven !) 

The living fountains in itself contains 

Of beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand, 

Sit paramount the Graces; here enthron'd, 

Celestial Venus, with divinest airs, 

Invites the soul to never fading joy. 

Look then abroad through nature, to the range 1 

Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres 

Wheeling unshaken through the void immense ; 

And speak. O man ! does this capacious scene 

With half that kindling majesty dilate 

Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose 2 

Hefulgent from the stroke of Csesar's fate, 

Amid the crowd of patriots ; and his arm 

Aloft extending, like eternal Jove 

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 

On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, 

And bade the father of his country, hail ! 

.For lo ! the tyrant prostrate on the dust, 

And Rome again is free ! Is aught so fair 

In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring, 

In the bright eye of Hesper, or the morn, 

In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair 

As virtuous friendship ? as the candid blush 

Of him who strives with fortune to be just ? 

The graceful tear that streams for other's woes ? 

Or the mild majesty of private life, 

Where Peace with ever blooming olive crowns 

The gate ; where Honour's liberal hands effuse 

Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings 

Of Innocence and Love protect the scene ? 

Once more search, undismay'd, the dark profound 

Where Nature works in secret ; view the beds 

Of mineral treasure, and the eternal vault 

That bounds the hoary ocean ; trace the forms 

Of atoms moving with incessant change 

Their elemental round ; behold the seeds 

1 " The sublime, in natural and in moral objects, is brouglit before us in 
one view, and compared together in the following beautiful passage — ' Look 
then abroad,'" &c. — Blair's Lectures, iii.. — W. 

2 Cicero himself describes this fact — " Caesare interfecto — statim omen- 
tum alte extollens M. Brutus pugionem, Ciceronem nominatim exclamavit, 
atque ei recuperatam libertatem est gratulatus." — Cic. Philipp. ii. 12. 



THE PLEASTJKES OE IMAGINATION. 19 

Of being, and tlie energy of life 

Kindling the mass with ever active flame : 

Then to the secrets of the working mind 

Attentive turn ; from dim oblivion call 

Her fleet, ideal band ; and bid them go ! 

Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour 

That saw the heavens created : then declare 

If aught were found in those external scenes 

To move thy wonder now. For what are all 

The forms which brute, unconscious matter wears, 

Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts ? 

Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows 

The superficial impulse ; dull their charms, 

And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye. 

Not so the moral species, nor the powers 

Of genius and design ; the ambitious mind 

There sees herself: by these congenial forms 

Touch'd and awaken'd, with intenser act 

She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleas'd 

Her features in the mirror. For of all 

The inhabitants of earth, to man ajone 

Creative Wisdom gave to lift his eye 

To Truth's eternal measures ; thence to frame 

The sacred laws of action and of will, 

Discerning justice from unequal deeds, 

And temperance from folly. But beyond 

This energy of Truth, whose dictates bind 

Assenting reason, the benignant Sire, 

To deck the honour'd paths of just and good, 

Has added bright Imagination's rays : 

Where Virtue, rising from the awful depth 1 

Of Truth's mysterious bosom, doth forsake 

The unadorn'd condition of her birth ; 

And dress'd by Fancy in ten thousand hues, 

Assumes a various feature, to attract, 

With charms responsive to each gazer's eye, 

The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk, 

The ingenuous youth, whom solitude inspires 

With purest wishes, from the pensive shade 

Beholds her moving, like a virgin muse 

That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme 

Of harmony and wonder : while among 

1 According to the opinion of those who assert moral obligation to 
be founded on an immutable and universal law; and that which is usually 
called the moral sense, to be determined by the peculiar temper of the imagi- 
nation and the earliest associations of ideas. 

c2 



20 AKEKSIDE. 

The herd of servile minds, her strenuous form 
Indignant flashes on the patriot's eye, 
And through the rolls of memory appeals 
To ancient honour, or in act serene, 
Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword 
Of public Power, from dark Ambition's reach 
To guard the sacred volume of the laws. 

Genius of ancient Greece ! whose faithful steps 
Well pleas'd I follow through the sacred paths 
Of Nature and of Science ; nurse divine 
Of all heroic deeds and fair desires ! 

! let the breath of thy extended praise 
Inspire my kindling bosom to the height 

Of this untempted theme. Nor be my thoughts 
Presumptuous counted, if amid the calm 
That soothes this vernal evening into smiles, 

1 steal impatient from the sordid haunts 
Of Strife and low Ambition, to attend 
Thy sacred presence in the sylvan shade, 
By their malignant footsteps ne'er profan'd. 
Descend propitious ! to my favour'd eye ; 
Such in thy mien, thy warm, exalted air, 

As when the Persian tyrant, foil'd and stung 

With shame and desperation, gnash'd his teeth 

To see thee rend the pageants of his throne ; 

And at the lightning of thy lifted spear 

Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils, 

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs, 

Thy smiling band of art, thy godlike sires 

Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth 

Warm from the schools of glory. Gruide my way 

Through fair Lyceum's 1 walk, the green retreats 

Of Academus," and the thy my vale, 

Where oft enchant eH with Socratic sounds, 

Ilissus 3 pure devolv'd his tuneful stream 

In gentler murmurs. From the blooming store 

Of these auspicious fields, may I unblam'd 

Transplant some living blossoms to adorn 

My native clime : while far above the flight 

Of Fancy's plume aspiring, I unlock 

The springs of ancient wisdom ! while I join 

Thy name, thrice honour'd ! with the immortal praise 

1 The school of Aristotle. 2 The school of Plato. 

3 One of the rivers on which Athens was situated. Plato, in some of his 
finest dialogues, lays the scene of the conversation with Socrates on its 
banks. 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. 21 

Of Nature ; while to my compatriot youth 
I point the high example of thy sons, 
And tune to Attic themes the British lyre. 



BOOK II. 

ARGUMENT. 

The separation of the works of Imagination from Philosophy, the 
cause of their abuse among the moderns — Prospect of their re-union 
under the influence of public Liberty — Enumeration of accidental 
pleasures, which increase the effect of objects delightful to the 
Imagination — The pleasures of sense — Particular circumstances of 
the mind — Discovery of truth — Perception of contrivance and de- 
sign — Emotion of the passions — All the natural passions partake of 
a pleasing sensation; with the final cause of this constitution illus- 
trated by an allegorical vision, and exemplified in sorrow, pity, 
terror, and indignation. 

When shall the laurel and the vocal string 
Resume their honours ? When shall we behold 
The tuneful tongue, the Promethean hand 
Aspire to ancient praise ? Alas ! how faint, 
How slow the dawn of Beauty and of Truth 
Breaks the reluctant shades of gothic night 
Which yet involve the nations ! Long they groan' d 
Beneath the furies of rapacious force ; 
Oft as the gloomy north, with iron swarms 
Tempestuous pouring from her frozen caves, 
Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works 
Of Liberty and Wisdom down the gulph 
Of all devouring night. As long immur'd 
In noontide darkness by the glimmering lamp, 
Each Muse and each fair Science pin'd away 
The sordid hours : while foul, barbarian hands 
Their mysteries profan'd, unstrung the lyre, 
And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth. 
At last the Muses rose, 1 and spurn' d their bonds, 

* About the age of Hugh Capet, founder of the third race of French kings, 
the poets of Provence were in high reputation; a sort of strolling bards or 
rhapsodists, who went about the courts of princes and noblemen, enter- 
taining them at festivals with music and poetry. They attempted both the 
epic, ode, and satire ; and abounded in a wild and fantastic vein of fable, 
partly allegorical, and partly founded on traditionary legends of the Saracen 
wars. These were the rudiments of Italian poetry. But their taste and 
composition must have been extremely barbarous, as we may judge by those 
who followed the turn of their fable in much politer times; such as Boiardo, 
Bernardo, Tasso, Ariosto, &c. 



22 akenslde. 

And, wildly warbling, scatter'd, as they flew, 

Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's 1 bowers 

To Arao's 2 myrtle border, and the shore 

Of soft Parthenope. 3 But still the rage 4 

Of dire ambition and gigantic power, 

From public aims and from the busy walk 

Of civil commerce, drove the bolder train 

Of penetrating Science to the cells, 

Where studious Ease consumes the silent hour 

In shadowy searches and unfruitful care. 

Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts 5 

Of mimic fancy and harmonious joy, 

To priestly domination and the lust 

Of lawless courts, their amiable toil 

For three inglorious ages have resign'd, 

In vain reluctant : and Torquato's tongue 

Was tun'd for slavish paeans at the throne 

Of tinsel pomp : and Raphael's magic hand 

Effus'd its fair creation, to enchant 

The fond adoring herd in Latian fanes 

To blind belief; while on their prostrate necks 

The sable tyrant plants his heel secure. 

But now, behold ! the radiant era dawns, 

When freedom's ample fabric, fix'd at length 

For endless years on Albion's happy shore 

1 The famous retreat of Francesco Petrarca, the father of Italian poetry, 
and his mistress Laura, a lady of Avignon. 

2 The river which runs by Florence, the birth-place of Dante and Boccaccio. 

3 Or Naples, the birth-place of Sannazaro. The great Torquato Tasso 
was born at Sorento in the kingdom of Naples. 

4 This relates to the cruel wars among the republics of Italy, and abomi- 
nable politics of its little princes, about the fifteenth century. These, at last, 
in conjunction with the papal power, entirely extinguished the spirit of liberty 
in that country, and established that abuse of the fine arts which has been 
since propagated over all Europe. 

5 Nor were they the only losers by the separation. For philosophy itself, to 
use the words of a noble philosopher, " being thus severed by the sprightly 
arts and sciences, must consequently grow dronish, insipid, pedantic, useless, 
and directly opposite to the real knowledge and practice of the world." In- 
somuch that " a gentleman," says another excellent writer, " cannot easily 
bring himself to like so austere and ungainly a form : so greatly is it changed 
from what was once the delight of the finest gentlemen of antiquity, and their 
recreation after the hurry of public affairs!" From this condition it cannot 
be recovered, but by uniting it once more with the works of imagination; 
and we have had the pleasure of observing a very great progress made 
towards their union in England within these few years. It is hardly possible 
to conceive them at a greater distance from each other than at the Eevolu- 
tion, when Locke stood at the head of one party, and Dryden of the other. 
But the general spirit of liberty, which has ever since been growing, naturally 
invited our men of wit and genius to improve that influence which the arts 
of persuasion gave them with the people, by applying them to subjects of im- 
portance to society. Thus poetry and eloquence became considerable; and 
philosophy is now of course obliged to borrow of their embellishments, in order 
even to gain audience with the public. 



THE PLEASTTEES OE IMAGINATION. 23 

In full proportion, once more shall extend 

To all the kindred powers of social bliss 

A common mansion, a parental roof. 

There shall the Virtues, there shall Wisdom's train, 

Their long-lost friends rejoining, as of old, 

Embrace the smiling family of Arts, 

The Muses and the Graces. Then no more 

Shall Vice, distracting their delicious gifts 

To aims abhorr'd, with high distaste and scorn 

Turn from their charms the philosophic eye, 

The patriot bosom ; then no more the paths 

Of public care or intellectual toil, 

Alone by footsteps haughty and severe 

In gloomy state be trod : the harmonious Muse 

And her persuasive sisters then shall plant 

Their sheltering laurels o'er the bleak ascent, 

And scatter flowers along the rugged way. 

Arm'd with the lyre, already have we dar'd 

To pierce divine Philosophy's retreats, 

And teach the Muse her lore ; already strove 

Their long divided honours to unite, 

While tempering this deep argument we sang 

Of Truth and Beauty. Now the same glad task 

Impends ; now urging our ambitious toil, 

We hasten to recount the various springs 

Of adventitious pleasure, which adjoin 

Their grateful influence to the prime effect 

Of objects grand or beauteous, and enlarge 

The complicated joy. The sweets of sense, 

Do they not oft with kind accession flow, 1 

To raise harmonious Fancv's native charm? 

So while we taste the fragrance of the rose, 2 

Glows not her blush the fairer ? While we view 

Amid the noontide walk a limpid rill 

Gush through the trickling herbage, to the thirst 

Of summer yielding the delicious draught 

Of cool refreshment ; o'er the niossy brink 

Shines not the surface clearer, and the waves 

With sweeter music murmur as they flow ? 

1 Enamour'd Fancy's native joy. — P. 
2 " Akenside has remarked this disposition of the mind, to identify the 
sources of the secondary. or accessory pleasures it enjoys, with those percep- 
tions of seeing and hearing, which form the physical basis (if I may use the 
expression) of our idea of the Beautiful. The examples he has selected are 
equally familiar and striking. Another illustration of the same thing may 
be collected from the wonderful effect on the estimate we form of the beauty 
of a particular landscape, by the agreeable or disagreeable temperature of 
the atmosphere at the moment we see it." — Stewart, Philosophical Essays, 
iii., chap. 2. — W. 



24 AKENSIDE. 

Nor this alone ; the various lot of life 
Oft from external circumstance assumes 
A moment's disposition to rejoice 
In those delights, which at a different hour 
Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of Spring, 
When rural songs and odours wake the morn, 
To every eye ; but how much more to his, 
Hound whom the bed of sickness long diffus'd 
Its melancholy gloom ! how doubly fair, 
When first with fresh-born vigour he inhales 
The balmy breeze, and feels the blessed sun 
Warm at his bosom, from the springs of life 
Chasing oppressive damps and languid pain ! 

Or shall I mention, where celestial Truth 
Her awful light discloses, to bestow 
A more majestic pomp on Beauty's frame? 
For man loves knowledge, and the beams of Truth 
More welcome touch his understanding's eye, 
Than all the blandishments of sound his ear, 
Than all of taste his tongue, Nor ever yet 1 
The melting rainbow's vernal-tinctur'd hues 
To me have shone so pleasing, as when first 
The hand of Science pointed out the path, 
In which the sunbeams gleaming from the west 
Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil 
Involves the orient, and that trickling shower, 
Piercing through every crystalline convex 
Of clustering dewdrops to their flight oppos'd, 
Hecoil at length where concave all behind 
The internal surface of each glassy orb 
Hepels their forward passage into air ; 
That thence direct they seek the radiant goal 
From which their course began ; and, as they strike 
In different lines the gazer's obvious eye, 
Assume a different lustre, through the brede 
Of colours changing from the splendid rose 
To the pale violet's dejected hue. 

Or shall we touch that kind access of joy, 
That springs to each fair object, while we trace 
Through all its fabric, Wisdom's artful aim 

1 " Akenside has taken notice of the additional charms which Physical 
Science lends even to the beauties of Nature ; and has illustrated this by an 
example which to me has always appeared peculiarly fortunate— the re- 
doubled delight which he himself experienced, when he first looked at the 
rainbow, after studying the, Newtonian theory of light and colours." — 
Stewaet, Phil. Essays j iv. ch, 1. — W. 



THE PLEASURES OP IMAGINATION. ZQ 

Disposing every part, and gaining still 
By means proportioned her benignant end r 

Speak ye the pure delight, whose favour' d steps 
The lamp of science through the jealous maze 
Of nature guides, when haply you reveal 
Her secret honours : whether in the sky. 
The beauteous laws of light, the central powers 
That wheel the pensile planets round the year ; 
"Whether in wonders of the rolling deep, 
Or the rich fruits of all-sustaining earth. 
Or fine-adjusted springs of life and sense, 
Ye scan the counsels of then Author's hand. 

What, when to raise the meditated scene. 
The hanie of passion, through the struggling soul 
Deep-kindled, shows across that sudden blaze 
The object of its rapture, vast of size, 
With fiercer colours and a night of shade ? 
What, like a storm from their capacious bed 
Tne sounding seas o'erwhelming, when the might 
Of these eruptions, working from the depth 
Of man's strong apprehension, shakes his frame 
Even to the base ; from every naked sense 
Of pain or pleasure dissipating all 
Opinion's feeble coverings, and the veil 
Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times 
To hide the feeling heart : Then Nature speaks 
Her genuine language, and the words of men, 
Big with the very motion of their souls, 
Declare with what accumulated force. 
The impetuous nerve of passion urges on 
The native weight and energy of things. 

Yet more : her honours where nor Beauty claims, 
IN" or shows of good the thirsty sense allure, 
From passion's power alone our nature holds 1 
Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse 
Bouses the mind's whole fabric ; with supplies 
Of daily impulse keeps the elastic powers 
Intensely pcis ; d. and polishes anew 
By that collision all the fine machine : 
Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees 
Incumbering, choke at last what heaven designed 
Eor ceaseless motion and a round of toil. 

1 This very mysterious kind of pleasure which is often found in the es br- 
aise of passions generally counted painful, has been taken notice of by 
se\eral authors. Lucretius resolves it into self-love: 

Suave mari magno, ie. lib. ii. 1. 



26 AKEKSIDE. 

— But say, does every passion thus to man 
Administer delight ? That name indeed 
Becomes the rosy breath of love ; becomes 
The radiant smiles of joy, the applauding hand 
Of admiration : but the bitter shower 
That sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave ; 
But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear, 
Or those consuming fires that gnaw the heart 
Of panting indignation, find we there 
To move delight ; — Then listen while my tongue 
The unalter'd will of Heaven with faithful awe 
[Reveals : what old Harmodius wont to teach 
My early age ; Harmodius, who had weigh'd 1 
Within his learned mind whate'er the schools 
Of wisdom, or thy lonely-whispering voice, 
O faithful Mature ! dictate of the laws 
Which govern and support this mighty frame 
Of universal being. Oft the hours 
From morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away, 
While mute attention hung upon his lips, 
As thus the sage his awful tale began : 

" 'Twas in the windings of an ancient wood, 
When spotless youth with solitude resigns 
To sweet philosophy the studious day, 
What time pale Autumn shades the silent eve, 
Musing I rov'd. Of good and evil much, 
And much of mortal man my thought revolv'd ; 
When starting full on fancy's gushing eye 
The mournful image of Parthenia's fate, 
That hour, O long belov'd and long deplor'd ! 
When blooming youth, nor gentlest wisdom's arts, 
'Nor Hymen's honours gather'd for thy brow, 
IN" or all thy lover's, all thy father's tears 
Avail'd to snatch thee from the cruel grave ; 
Thy agonising looks, thy last farewell 
Struct to the inmost feeling of my soul 
As with the hand of Death. At once the shade 
More horrid nodded o'er me, and the winds 
With hoarser murmuring shook the branches. Dark 
As midnight storms, the scene of human things 

1 " On the subject of the passions, when our attention evidently expects to 
be disengaged from abstraction by spirited draughts illustrative of their in- 
fluence, how much are we disappointed by the cold and tedious episode of 
Harmodius' s vision; an allegory which is the more intolerable, because it 
professes to teach us resignation to the will of heaven, by a fiction which 
neither imposes on the fancy, nor communicates a moral to the under- 
standing." — T. Campbell. — W. 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. 27 

Appear* d before me ; deserts, burning sands, 

Where the parch'd adder dies ; the frozen south, 

And desolation blasting all the west 

With rapine and with murder : tyrant power 

Here sits enthron'd with blood ; the baleful charms 

Of superstition there infect the skies, 

And turn the sun to horror. Gracious Heaven ! 

What is the life of man ? Or cannot these, 

Not these portents thy awful will suffice ? 

That, propagated thus beyond their scope, 

They rise to act their cruelties anew 

In my afflicted bosom, thus decreed 

The universal sensitive of pain, 

The wretched heir of evils not its own !" 

Thus I impatient : when, at once effus'd, 
A flashing torrent of celestial day 
Burst through the shadowy void. With slow descent 
A purple cloud came floating through the sky, 
And, pois'd at length within the circling trees, 
Hung obvious to my view ; till opening wide 
Its lucid orb, a more than human form 
Emerging lean'd majestic o'er my head, 
And instant thunder shook the conscious grove. 
Then melted into air the liquid cloud, 
And all the shining vision stood reveal'd. 
A wreath of palm his ample forehead bound, 
And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee, 
Flow'd the transparent robe, around his waist 
Collected with a radiant zone of gold 
-ZEthereal : there in mystic signs engrav'd, 
I read his office high and sacred name, 
Genius of human kind ! Appall' d I gaz'd 
The godlike presence ; for athwart his brow 
Displeasure, temper'd with a mild concern, 
Look'd down reluctant on me, and his words 
Like distant thunders broke the murmuring air. 

" Vain are thy thoughts, O child of mortal birth ! 
And impotent thy tongue. Is thy short span 
Capacious of this universal frame ? 
Thy wisdom all sufficient ? Thou, alas ! 
Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lord 
Of JN"ature and his works ? to lift thy voice 
Against the sovereign order he decreed, 
All good and lovely P to blaspheme the bands 
Of tenderness innate and social love, 
Holiest of things ! by which the general orb 



28 AKEXSIDE. 

Of being, as by adamantine links, 
Was drawn to perfect union and sustained 
From everlasting ? Hast thou felt the pangs 
Of softening sorrow, of indignant zeal, 
So grievous to the soul, as thence to wish 
The ties of Nature broken from thy frame ; 
That so thy selfish unrelenting heart 
Might cease to mourn its lot, no longer then 
The wretched heir of evils not its own ? 
O fair benevolence of generous minds ! 

man by nature formed for alT man kind !" 
He spoke : abash'd and silent I remained, 
As conscious of my tongue's offence and aw'd 
Before his presence, though my secret soul 
Disdain'd the imputation. On the ground 

1 fix'd my eyes ; till from his airy couch 

He stooped sublime, and touching with his hand 
My dazzling forehead, " Raise thy sight," he cried, 
" And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue/' 

I look'd, and lo ! the former scene was chang'd : 
For verdant alleys and surrounding trees, 
A solitary prospect, wide and wild, 
Hush'd on my senses. 'Twas a horrid pile 
Of hills with many a shaggy forest mix'd, 
With many a sable cliff and glittering stream. 
Aloft recumbent o'er the hanging ridge, 
The brown woods wav'd ; while ever trickling springs 
Wash'd from the naked roots of oak and pine 
The crumbling soil ; and still at every fall 
Down the steep windings of the channel'd rock, 
Hemurmuring rush'd the congregated floods 
With hoarser inundation ; till at last 
They reach'd a grassy plain, which from the skirts 
Of that high desert spread her verdant lap, 
And drank the gushing moisture, where confin'd 
In one smooth current, o'er the lilied vale 
Clearer than glass it flow'd. Autumnal spoils 
Luxuriant spreading to the rays of morn, 
Blush'cl o'er the cliffs, whose half encircling mound 
As in a sylvan theatre enclos'd 
That flowery level. On the river's brink 
I spied a fair pavilion, w~hich diffus'd 
Its floating umbrage 'mid the silver shade 
Of osiers. jNTow the western sun reveal'd 
Between two parting cliffs his golden orb, 
And pour'd across the shadow of the hills, 



THE PLEASURES OP IYIAGI^ATIOX. 29 

On rocks and floods a yellow stream of light 

That eheer'd the solemn scene. My listening powers 

Were aw'd, and every thought in silence hung, 

And wondering expectation. Then the voice 

Of that celestial power, the mystic show 

Declaring, thus my deep attention call'd : 

" Inhabitant of earth, to whom is given 1 
The gracious ways of Providence to learn, 
[Receive my sayings with a steadfast ear — 
Xnow then, the Sovereign Spirit of the world, 
Though, self-collected from eternal time, 
"Within his own deep essence he beheld 
The bounds of true felicity complete ; 

1 The account of the economy of providence here introduced, as the most 
proper to calm and satisfy the niind when under the compunction of private 
evils, seems to hare come originally from the Pythagorean school : but of the 
ancient philosophers, Plato has most largely insisted upon it, has established 
it with ah the strength of his capacious understanding, and ennobled it with 
all the magnificence of his divine imagination. He has one passage so frill 
and clear on this head, that I am persuaded the reader will be pleased to 
see it here, though somewhat long. Addressing himself to such as are not 
satisfied concerning divine Providence : " The Being who presides over the 
whole," says he, "has disposed and complicated all things for the happiness 
and virtue of the whole, every part of which, according to the extent of its 
influence, does and suffers what is fit and proper. One of these parts is 
yours, unhappy man, which though in itself most inconsiderable and 
minute, yet being connected with the universe, ever seeks to co-operate with 
that supreme order. You in the mean time are ignorant of the very end for 
which all particular natures are brought into existence, that the all-compre- 
hending nature of the whole may be perfect and happy; existing as it does, 
not for yoox sake, but the cause and reason of your existence, which, as in 
the symmetry of every artificial work, must of necessity concur with the 
general design of the artist, and be subservient to the whole of which it is a 
part. Your complaint therefore is ignorant and groundless; since, according 
to the various energy of creation, and the common laws of nature, there is a 
constant provision of that which is best at the same time for you and for the 
whole. — For the governing intelligence clearly beholding all the actions of 
animated and self-moving creatures, and that mixture of good and evil 
which diversifies them, considered first of ah by what disposition of things, 
and by what situation of each individual in the general system, vice might be 
depressed and subdued, and virtue made secure' of victory and happiness 
with the greatest facility, and in the highest degree possible. In this man- 
ner he ordered, through the entire circle of being, the internal constitution of 
every mind, where should be its station in the universal fabric, and through 
what variety of circumstances it should proceed in the whole tenor of its 
existence. " v He goes on in his sublime manner to assert a future state of 
retribution " as well for those who, by the exercise of good dispositions being 
harmonized and assimilated into the divine virtue, are consequently removed 
to a place of unblemished sanctity and happiness; as of those who bv the 
most flagitious arts have risen from contemptible beginnings to the greatest 
affluence and power, and whom you therefore look upon as unanswerable 
instances of negligence in the gods, because you are ignorant of the purposes 
to which they are subservient, and in what manner they contribute to that 
supreme intention of good to the whole." — Plato de Leg. x. 16. 

This theory has been delivered of late, especially abroad, in a manner 
which subverts the freedom of human actions: whereas Plato appears very 
careful to preserve it, and has been in that respect imitated by the best of his 
followers. 



30 AKEFSIDE. 

Yet by immense benignity inclin'd 

To spread around hira that primeval joy 

Which fill'd himself, he rais'd his plastic arm, 

And sounded through the hollow depths of space 

The strong creative mandate. Straight arose 

These heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life, 

Effusive kindled by his breath divine 

Through endless forms of being. Each inhal'd 

Erom him its portion of the vital flame, 

In measure such, that, from the wide complex 

Of coexistent orders, one might rise, 1 

One order, all involving and entire. 

He too beholding in the sacred light 

Of his essential reason, all the shapes 

Of swift contingence, all successive ties 

Of action propagated through the sum 

Of possible existence, he at once, 

Down the long series of eventful time, 

So fix'd the dates of being, so dispos'd, 

To every living soul of every kind 

The field of motion, and the hour of rest, 

That all conspir'd to his supreme design, 

To universal good : with full accord 

Answering the mighty model he had chose, 

The best and fairest of unnumber'd worlds 2 

That lay from everlasting in the store 

Of his divine conceptions. Not content, 

By one exertion of creative power 

His goodness to reveal through every age, 

Through every moment up the tract of time 

His parent hand with ever new increase 

Of happiness and virtue has adorn'd 

The vast harmonious frame : his parent hand, 

Erom the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, 

To men, to angels, to celestial minds 

Eor ever leads the generations on 

To higher scenes of being ; while supplied 

Erom day to day with his enlivening breath, 

1 See the Meditations of Antoninus and the Characteristics, passim. 

2 This opinion is so old, that Timaeus Locrus calls the Supreme Being 
S-qixiovpyos tov /3eArtovo?. the artificer of that which is best; and represents 
him as resolving in the beginning to produce the most excellent work, and as 
copying the world most exactly from his own intelligible and essential idea; 
" so that it yet remains, as it was at first, perfect in beauty, and will never 
stand in need of any correction or improvement." There can be no room for 
a caution here, to understand the expressions, not of any particular circum- 
stances of human life separately considered, but of the sum or universal 
system of life and being. See also the vision at the end of the Theodicee of 
Leibnitz, 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGrETATIOK. 31 

Inferior orders in succession rise 
To fill the void below. As flame ascends, 1 
As bodies to their proper centre move, 
As the pois'd ocean to the attracting moon. 
Obedient swells, and every headlong stream 
Devolves its winding waters to the mam ; 
So all things which have life aspire to God, 
The sun of being, boundless, unimpair'cl. 
Centre of souls ! Nor does the faithful voice 
Of Nature cease to prompt their eager steps 
Aright : nor is the care of Heaven withheld 
From granting to the task proportion' d aid : 
That in their stations all may persevere 
To climb the ascent of being, and approach 
For ever nearer to the life divine. — 

" That rocky pile thou seest, that verdant lawn 
Fresh-water'd from the mountains. Let the scene 
Paint in thy fancy the primeval seat 
Of man, and where the Will Supreme ordain'd 
His mansion, that pavilion far-cliffus'd 
Along the shady brink ; in this recess 
To wear the appointed season of his youth, 
Till riper hours should open to his toil 
The high communion of superior minds, 
Of consecrated heroes and of gods. 
]S"or did the Sire Omnipotent forget 
His tender bloom to cherish ; nor withheld 
Celestial footsteps from his green abode. 
Oft from the radiant honours of his throne, 
He sent whom most he lov'd, the sovereign fair, 
The effluence of his glory, whom he plac'd 
Before his eyes for ever to behold ; 
The goddess from whose inspiration flows 
The toil of patriots, the delight of friends ; 
"Without whose work divine, in heaven or earth, 
Kought lovely, nought propitious comes to pass, 
Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour. Her the Sire 
Gave it in charge to rear the blooming mind, 
The folded powers to open, to direct 
The growth luxuriant of his young desires, 
And from the laws of this majestic world 
To teach him what was good. As thus the nymph 
Her daily care attended, by her side 

i This opinion, though not held by Plato nor any of the ancients, is yet a 
very natural consequence of his principles. But the disquisition is too 'com- 
plex and extensive to be entered upon here. 



32 AKE^SIDE. 

With constant steps her gay companion stay'd, 

The fair Euphrosyne, the gentle queen 

Of smiles, and graceful gladness, and delights 

That cheer alike the hearts of mortal men, 

And powers immortal. See the shining pair ! 

Behold, where from his dwelling now disclos'd 

They quit their youthful charge and seek the skies," 

I look'd, and on the ilowery turf there stood 
Between two radiant forms a smiling youth, 
Whose tender cheeks display'd the vernal flower 
Of beauty : sweetest innocence illum'd 
His bashful eyes, and on his polished brow 
Sate young simplicity. With fond regard 
He view'd the associates, as their steps they mov'd ; 
The younger chief his ardent eyes detain'd, 
With mild regret invoking her return. 
Bright as the star of evening she appear'd 
Amid the dusky scene. Eternal youth 
O'er all her form its glowing honours breath'd; 
And smiles eternal from her candid eyes 
Elow'd, like the dewy lustre of the morn 
Effusive trembling on the placid waves. 
The spring of heaven had shed its blushing spoils 
To bind her sable tresses : full diffus'd 
Her yellow mantle floated in the breeze ; 
And in her hand she wav'd a living branch 
Rich with immortal fruits, of power to calm 
The wrathful heart, and from the brightening eyes 
To chase the cloud of sadness. More sublime 
The heavenly partner mov'd. The prime of age 
Compos'd her steps. The presence of a god, 
High on the circle of her brow enthron'd, 
From each majestic motion darted awe, 
Devoted awe ! till, cherish'd by her looks, 
Benevolent and meek, confiding love 
To filial rapture soften'd all the soul. 
Free in her graceful hand she pois'd the sword 
Of chaste dominion. An heroic crown 
Display'd the old simplicity of pomp 
Around her honour' d head. A matron's robe, 
White as the sunshine streams through vernal clouds, 
Her stately form invested. Hand in hand 
The immortal pair forsook the enamell'd green 
Ascending slowly. Bays of limpid light 
Gleam'd round their path ; celestial sounds were heard, 
And through the fragrant air ethereal dews 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 33 

DistilTd around tliem ; till at once the clouds 
Disparting wide in midway sky, withdrew 
Their airy veil, and left a bright expanse 
Of empyrean flame, where spent and drown'd, 
Afflicted vision plung'd in vain to scan 
What object it involv'd, My feeble eyes 
EndurVl not. Bending down to earth I stood, 
With dumb attention. Soon a female voice, 
As watery murmurs sweet, or warbling shades, 
"With sacred invocation thus began : 

" Father of gods and mortals ! whose right arm 
With reins eternal guides the moving heavens, 
Bend thy propitious ear. Behold well pie as 'd 
1 seek to finish thy divine decree. 
With frequent steps I visit yonder seat 
Of man, thy offspring ; from the tender seeds 
Of justice and of wisdom, to evolve 
The latent honours of his generous frame ; 
Till thy conducting hand shall raise his lot 
From earth's dim scene to these ethereal walks, 
The temple of thy glory. But not me, 
IS ot my directing voice, he oft requires, 
Or hears delighted : this enchanting maid, 
The associate thou hast given me, her alone 
He loves, O Father ! absent, her he craves ; 
And but for her glad presence ever join'd, 
Bejoices not in mine : that ail my hopes 
This thy benignant purpose to fulfil, 
I deem uncertain : and my daily cares 
Unfruitful all and vain, unless by thee 
Still farther aided in the work divine." 

She ceas'd ; a voice more awful thus replied : 
" O thou ! in whom for ever I delight, 
Fairer than all the inhabitants of Heaven, 
Best image of thy Author ! far from thee 
Be disappointment, or distaste, or blame ; 
WTio soon or late shalt every work fulfil, 
And no resistance find. If man refuse 
To hearken to thy dictates : or, allur'd 
By meaner joys, to any other power 
Transfer the honours due to thee alone ; 
That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste, 
That power in whom delighteth ne'er behold. 
Go then, once more, and happy be thy toil ; 
Go then ! but let not this thy smiling friend 
Partake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold! 



34 akenside. 

With thee the son of Nemesis I send ; 

The fiend abhorr'd ! whose vengeance takes account 

Of sacred order's violated laws. 

See where he calls thee, burning to be gone, 

Fierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath 

On yon devoted head. But thou, my child, 

Control his cruel frenzy, and protect 

Thy tender charge ; that when despair shall grasp 

His agonizing bosom, he may learn, 

Then he may learn to love the gracious hand 

Alone sufficient in the hour of ill, 

To save his feeble spirit; then confess 

Thy genuine honours, O excelling fair ! 

"When all the plagues that wait the deadly will 

Of this avenging demon, all the storms 

Of night infernal, serve but to display 

The energy of thy superior charms 

With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage, 

And shining clearer in the horrid gloom." 

Here ceas'd that awful voice, and soon I felt 
The cloudy curtain of refreshing e^e 
Was clos'd once more, from that immortal fire 
Sheltering my eyelids. Looking up, I view'd 
A vast gigantic spectre striding on 1 
Thro' murmuring thunders and a waste of clouds, 
With dreadful action. Black as night, his brow 
[Relentless frowns involv'd. His savage limbs 
With sharp impatience violent he writh'd, 
As through convulsive anguish ; and his hand, 
Arm'd with a scorpion lash, full oft he rais'd 
In madness to his bosom ; while his eyes 
Hain'd bitter tears, and bellowing loud he shook 
The void with horror. Silent by his side 
The virgin came. No discomposure stirr'd 
Her features. From the glooms which hung around, 
No stain of darkness mingled with the beam 
Of her divine effulgence. Now they stoop 
Upon the river bank ; and now to hail 
His wonted guests, with eager steps advanc'd 
The unsuspecting inmate of the shade. 

1 " The description of the son of Nemesis, is wrought up with much strength 
and colouring. The story is, in fact, the introduction of evil, accounted for 
by the necessity of training the pupil of Providence to the love of virtue, the 
supreme good, by withdrawing from him for awhile the allurements of plea- 
sure; but why his very suffering should be attended with pleasure, which was 
the phenomenon to be accounted for, is not so clearlymade out." — Baebauld's 
Essay, p. 19.— W. 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 35 

As when a famish.' d wolf, tliat all night long 
Had rang'd the Alpine snows, by chance at morn 
Sees from a cliff, incumbent o'er the smoke 
Of some lone village, a neglected kid 
That strays along the wild for herb or spriug : 
Down from the winding ridge he sweeps amain, 
And thinks he tears him : so with tenfold rage, 
The monster sprung remorseless on his prey. 
Amaz'd the stripling stood : with panting breast 
Feebly he pour'd the lamentable wail 
Of helpless consternation, struck at once, 
And rooted to the ground. The Queen beheld 
His terror, and with looks of tenderest care 
Advanc'd to save him. Soon the tyrant felt 
Her awful power. His keen tempestuous arm 
Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage 
Had aim'd the deadly blow : then dumb retir'd 
"With sullen rancour. Lo ! the sovran maid 
Folds with a mother's arms the fainting boy, 
Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek : 
Then grasps his hands, and cheers him with her tongue: 

" O wake thee, rouse thy spirit ! Shall the spite 
Of yon tormentor thus appal thy heart, 
While I, thy friend and guardian, am at hand 
To rescue and to heal ? O let thy soul 
Hemember, what the will of Heaven ordains 
Is ever good for all ; and if for all, 
Then good for thee. JNTor only by the warmth 
And soothing sunshine of delightful things, 
Do minds grow up and nourish. Oft misled 
By that bland light, the young unpractis'd views 
Of reason wander through a fatal road, 
Far from their native aim : as if to lie 
Inglorious in the fragrant shade, and wait 
The soft access of ever circling joys, 
W r ere all the end of being. Ask thyself, 
This pleasing error did it never lull 
Thy wishes ? Has thy constant heart refus'd 
The silken fetters of delicious ease ? 
Or when divine Euphrosyne appear'd 
Within this dwelling, did not thy desires 
Hang far below the measure of thy fate, 
Which I reveal'd before thee ? and thy eyes, 
Impatient of my counsels, turn away 
To drink the soft effusion of her smiles ? 
Know then, for this the everlasting Sire 
D 2 



36 AKEXSIDE. 

Deprives tliee of her presence, and instead, 

O wise and still benevolent ! ordains 

This horrid visage hither to pursue 

My steps ; that so thy nature may discern 

Its real good, and what alone can save 

Thy feeble spirit in this hour of ill 

Prom folly and despair. O yet belov'd ! 

Let not this headlong terror quite o'erwhelm 

Thy scatter 'd powers ; nor fatal deem the rage 

Of this tormentor, nor his proud assault, 

While I am here to vindicate thy toil, 

Above the generous question of thy arm. 

Brave by thy fears and in thy weakness strong, 

This hour he triumphs : but confront his might, 

And dare him to the combat, then, with ease 

Disarm'd and quell'd, his fierceness he resigns 

To bondage and to scorn : while thus inur'd 

By watchful danger, by unceasing toil, 

The immortal mind, superior to his fate, 

Amid the outrage of external things, 

Firm as the solid base of this great world, 

Bests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds ! 

Ye waves ! ye thunders ! roll your tempest on ; 

Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky ! 

Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire 

Be loosen'd from their seats ; yet still serene, 

The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck ; 

And ever stronger as the storms advance, 

Firm through the closing ruin holds his way, 

Where Nature calls him to the destin'd goal." 

So spake the goddess ; while through all her frame 
Celestial raptures flow'd, in every word, 
In every motion kindling warmth divine 
To seize who listen' d. Vehement and swift 
As lightning fires the aromatic shade 
In ^Ethiopian fields, the stripling felt 
Her inspiration catch his fervid soul, 
And starting from his languor thus exclaim'd : 

" Then let the trial come ! and witness thou, 
If terror be upon me ; if I shrink 
To meet the storm, or falter in my strength 
When hardest it besets me. Do not think 
That I am fearful and infirm of soul, 
As late thy eyes beheld : for thou hast chang'd 
My nature ; thy commanding voice has wak'd 
My languid powers to bear me boldly on, 



THE PLEASURES OP IMAGrETATIOB". 37 

Where'er tlie Trill divine my path, ordains 
Through toil or peril : only do not thou 

Forsake me; O be tliou for ever near, 

That I may listen to thy sacred voice, 

And guide by thy decrees my constant feet. 

But say, for ever are my eyes bereft P 

Say, shall the fair Euphrosyne not once 

Appear again to charm me ! J Thou, in heaven ! 

O thou eternal arbiter of things ! 

Be thy great bidding done : for vrho am I, 

To question thy appointment ? Let the frowns 

Of this avenger every morn o'ercast 

The cheerful dawn, and every evening damp 

With double night my dwelling ; I will learn 

To hail them both, and unrepining bear 

His hateful presence : but permit my tongue 

One glad request, and if my deeds may find 

Thy awful eye propitious, restore 

The rosy-featured maid ; again to cheer 

This lonely seat, and bless me with her smiles." 

He spoke ; when instant through the sable glooms 
With which that furious presence had invoiv'd 
The ambient air, a flood of radiance came 
Swift as the lightning flash : the melting clouds 
Flew diverse, and amid the blue serene 
Euphrosyne appear'd, With sprightly step 
The nymph alighted on the irriguous lawn, 
And to her wondering audience thus began -, 1 

" Lo ! I am here to answer to your vows, 
And be the meeting fortunate ! I come 
With joyful tidings ; we shall part no more — 
Hark ! how the gentle echo from her cell 
Talks through the cliffs, and murmuring o'er the 

stream 
Repeats the accents ; we shall part no more. — 
O my delightful friends ! well pleas'd on high 
The Father has beheld you, while the might 
Of that stern foe with bitter trial prov'd 

1 Speaking of the ninth book of Southey's Joan of Are, ]\Iiss Seward ob- 
serves. ( Correspondence, iv. 353,) that, " in the speech of the beatifiedTheodore, 
we recognise that of Euphrosyne in the first edition of the ' Pleasures of 
Imagination :' — 

( Lo ! I am here to answer to your vows, 
And be the meeting fortunate 1' 

Akenside expunged that beautiful allegoric episode, the gem of his work, 
from the later editions. Souther's imitation of the ' Lo ! I am here;' does 
not equal its original in beauty. : ' — TV, 



38 AKEKSIDE. 

Your equal doings : then for ever spake 
The high decree ; that thou, celestial maid ! 
Howe'er that grisly phantom on thy steps 
May sometimes dare intrude, yet never more 
Shalt thou, descending to the abode of man, 
Alone endure the rancour of his arm, 
Or leave thy lov'd Euphrosyne behind. " 

She ended : and the whole romantic scene 
Immediate vanish'd ; rocks, and woods, and rills, 
The mantling tent, and each mysterious form 
Flew like the pictures of a morning dream, 
When sunshine fills the bed. Awhile I stood 
Perplex'd and giddy; till the radiant power 
Who bade the visionary landscape rise, 
As up to him I turn'd, with gentlest looks 
Preventing my inquiry, thus began : 

" There let thy soul acknowledge its complaint 
How blind ! how impious ! There behold the ways 
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man, 
For ever just, benevolent, and wise : 
That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursu'd 
By vexing fortune and intrusive pain, 
Should never be divided from her chaste, 
Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I urge 
Thy tardy thought through all the various round 
Of this existence, that thy softening soul 
At length may learn what energy the hand 
Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide 
Of passion swelling with distress and pain, 
To mitigate the sharp with gracious drops 
Of cordial pleasure ? Ask the faithful youth, 1 
Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd 
So often fills his arms ; so often draws 
His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 
O ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds 
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 
That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise 
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes 
With virtue's kindest looks his aching breast, 

} Mr. Campbell says : — "The true poet renovates our emotions, and is not 
content with explaining them Even in a philosophical poem on the Imagi- 
nation, Akenside might have given historical tablets of the power which h^. 
delineated; but his illustrations for the most part only consist in general 
ideas fieetingly personified. There is but one pathetic passage (I think) in 
the whole poem, namely, that in which he describes the lover embracing the 
urn of his deceased mis tress." — W. 



THE PLEASUEES OF IMAGINATION. 39 

And turns his tears to rapture. — Ask the crowd 

Which flies impatient from the village walk 

To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below 

The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coast 

Some helpless bark ; while sacred Pity melts 

The general eye. or Terror's icy hand 

Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair ; 

While every mother closer to her breast 

Catches her child, and pointing where the waves 

Foam through the shatter' d vessel, shrieks aloud 

As one poor wretch that spreads his piteous arms 

For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge, 

As now another, dash'd against the rock, 

Drops lifeless down : O ! deemest thou indeed 

jS"o kind endearment here by .Nature given 

To mutual terror and compassion's tears P 

JS"o sweetly melting softness which attracts, 

O'er all that edge of pain, the social powers 

To this their proper action and their end ? 

— Ask thy own heart ; when at the midnight hour, 

Slow through that studious gloom thy pausing eye, 

Led by the glimmering taper, moves around 

The sacred volumes of the dead, the songs 

Of Grecian bards, and records writ by Fame 

For Grecian heroes, where the present Power 

Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page, 

Even as a father blessing, while he reads, 

The praises of his son. If then thy soul, 

Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days, 

Mix in their deeds, and kindle with their name ; 

Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view, 

When rooted from the base, heroic states 

Atoum in the dust, and tremble at the frown 

Of curst ambition ; when the pious band 

Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires, 

Lie side by side in gore ; when ruffian pride 

L'surps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp 

Of public power, the majesty of rule, 

The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe, 

To slavish e # mpty pageants, to adorn 

A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes 

Of such as bow the knee ; when honour'd urns 

Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust 

And storied arch, to glut the coward rage 

Of regal envy, strew the public way 

With hallow'd ruins ; when the Aluse's haunt, 



40 AKENSIDE. 

The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talk 

With Socrates or Tully, hears no more, 

Save the coarse jargon of contentious monks, 

Or female Superstition's midnight prayer ; 

When ruthless Bapine from the hand of Time 

Tears the destroying scythe, with surer blow 

To sweep the works of glory from their base ; 

Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street 

Expands his raven wings, and up the wall, 

Where senates once the price of monarchs doom'd, 

Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weeds 

That clasp the mouldering column ; thus defac'd, 

Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrills 

Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear 

Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm 

In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove 

To fire the impious wreath on Philip's 1 brow, 

Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ; 

Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste 

The big distress ? Or wouldst thou then exchange 

Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot 

Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd 

Of mute barbarians bending to his nod, 

And bears aloft his gold-invested front, 

And says within himself, ' I am a king, 

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe 

Intrude upon mine ear ?' — The baleful dregs 

Of these late ages, this inglorious draught 

Of servitude and folly, have not yet, 

Blest be the eternal Euler of the world ! 

Defil'd to such a depth of sordid shame 

The native honours of the human soul, 

JN"or so effac'cl the image of its Sire." 

1 The Macedonian. 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. 41 



BOOK III. 

ARGUMENT. 

Pleasure in observing the tempers and manners of men, even where 
vicious or absurd — The origin of Vice, from false representations 
of the fancy, producing false opinions concerning good and evil — 
Inquiry into ridicule — The general sources of ridicule in the 
minds and characters of men, enumerated — Final cause of the 
sense of ridicule — The resemblance of certain aspects of inanimate 
things to the sensations and properties of the mind — The opera- 
tions of the mind in the production of the works of Imagination, 
described — The secondary pleasure from Imitation — The bene- 
volent order of the world illustrated in the arbitrary connexion 
of these pleasures with the objects which excite them — The 
nature and conduct of taste — Concluding with an account of the 
natural and moral advantages resulting from a sensible and well- 
formed imagination. 

What wonder, therefore, since the endearing ties 

Of passion link the universal kind 

Of man so close, what wonder if to search 

This common nature through the various change 

Of sex, and age, and fortune, and the frame 

Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind 

With unresisted charms ? The spacious west, 

And all the teeming regions of the south 

Hold not a quarry, to the curious flight 

Of Knowledge, half so tempting or so fair. 

As man to man. Nor only where the smiles 

Of Love invite ; nor only where the applause 

Of cordial Honour turns the attentive eye 

On Virtue's graceful deeds. For since the course 

Of things external acts in different ways 

On human apprehensions, as the hand 

Of Nature temper'd to a different frame 

Peculiar minds ; so haply where the powers 1 

1 The influence of th® imagination on the conduct of life, is one of the most 
important points in moral philosophy . It were easy by an induction of facts 
to prove that the imagination directs almost all the passions, and mixes "with 
almost every circumstance of action or pleasure. Let any man, even of the 
coldest head and soberest industry, analyze the idea of what he calls his 
interest ; he will find that it consists chiefly of certain degrees of decency, 
beauty, and order, variously combined into one system, the idol which he 
seeks to enjoy by labour, hazard, and self-denial. It is, on this account, of 
the last consequence to regulate these images by the standard of nature and 
the general good; otherwise the imagination, by heightening some objects 



42 AKENSIDE. 

Of Fancy neither lessen nor enlarge 

The images of things, but paint in all 

Their genuine hues, the features which they wore 

In Mature ; there Opinion will be true, 

And Action right. For Action treads the path 

In which Opinion says he follows good, 

Or flies from evil ; and Opinion gives 

Eeport of good or evil, as the scene 

Was drawn by Fancy, lovely or deform'd : 

Thus her report can never there be true 

"Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye, 

With glaring colours and distorted lines. 

Is there a man, who at the sound of death 

Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjur'd up, 

And black before him ; nought but deathbed groans 

And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink 

Of light and being down the gloomy air, 

An unknown depth ? Alas ! in such a mind, 

If no bright forms of excellence attend 

The image of his country ; nor the pomp 

Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice 

beyond their real excellence and beauty, or by representing others in a more 
odious or terrible shape than they deserve, may of course engage us in pur- 
suits utterly inconsistent with the moral order of things. 

If it be objected that this account of things supposes the passions to be 
merely accidental, whereas there appears in some a natural and hereditary 
disposition to certain passions prior to all circumstances of education or for- 
tune; it may be answered, that though no man is born ambitious or a miser, 
yet he may inherit from his parents a peculiar temper or complexion of mind, 
which shall render his imagination more liable to be struck with some par- 
ticular objects, consequently dispose him to form opinions of good and ill, 
and entertain passions of a particular turn. Some men, for instance, by the 
original frame of their minds, are more delighted with the vast and magnifi- 
cent, others, on the contrary, with the elegant and gentle aspects of nature. 
And it is -very remarkable, that the disposition of the moral powers is always 
similar to this of the imagination; that those who are most inclined to 
admire prodigious and sublime objects in the physical world, are also most 
inclined to applaud examples of fortitude and heroic virtue in the moral. 
While those who are charmed rather with the delicacy and sweetness of 
colours, and forms, and sounds, never fail in like manner to yield the pre- 
ference to the softer scenes of virtue and the sympathies of a domestic life. 
And this is sufficient to account for the objection. 

Among the ancient philosophers, though we have several hints concerning 
this influence of the imagination upon morals among the remains of the 
Socratic school, yet the Stoics were the first who paid it a due attention. 
Zeno, their founder, thought it impossible to preserve any tolerable regu- 
larity in life, without frequently inspecting those pictures or appearances 
of things, which the imagination offers to the mind (Diog. Laert, 1. vii). 
The meditations of M. Aurelius, and the discourses of Epictetus, are 
full of the same sentiment; insomuch that the latter makes the right 
management of the fancies, the only thing for which we are accountable 
to providence, and without which a man is no other than stupid or 
frantic. Arrian. 1. i. c. 12, and 1. ii. c. 22. See also the Characteristics, vol. i. 
from p. 313 to 321, where this Stoical doctrine is embellished with all the 
elegance and graces of Plato. 



THE PLEASURES 0"F IMAGINATION. 43 

Of Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes 

The conscious bosom with a patriot's name ; 

Will not Opinion tell him, that to die, 

Or stand the hazard is a greater ill 

Than to betray his country ? And in act 

Will he not choose to be a wretch and live ? 

Here vice begins then. From the enchanting cup 

Which Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst 

Of youth oft swallows a Circsean draught, 

That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye 

Of Reason, till no longer he discerns, 

And only guides to err. Then revel forth 

A furious band that spurn him from the throne : 

And all is uproar. Thus Ambition grasps 

The empire of the soul : thus pale Revenge 

Unsheaths her murderous dagger ; and the hands 

Of Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts, 

Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the laws 

That keeps them from their prey : thus all the 

plagues 
The wicked bear, or o'er the trembling scene 
The tragic ]\Iuse discloses, under shapes 
Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp, 
Stole first into the mind. Yet not by all 
Those lying forms which Fancy in the brain 
Engenders, are the kindling passions driven 
To guilty deeds ; nor Reason bound in chains, 
That Yice alone may lord it : oft adorn'd 
With solemn pageants, Folly mounts the throne, 
And plays her idiot antics, like a queen. 
A thousand garbs she wears ; a thousand ways 
She wheels her giddy empire. — Lo ! thus far 
With bold adventure, to the ACantuan lyre 
I sing of ]N~ature's charms, and touch well pleas'd 
A stricter note : now haply must my song 
Unbend her serious measure, and reveal 
In lighter strains, how Tolly's awkward arts 1 
Excite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke ; 
The sportive province of the comic Muse. 

See ! in what crowds the uncouth forms advance : 

1 Notwithstanding the general influence of ridicule on private and civil life, 
as well as on learning and the sciences, it has been almost constantly neg- 
lected or misrepresented, by divines especially. The manner of treating 
these subjects in the science of human nature, shouldbe precisely the same as 
in natural philosophy; from particular facts to investigate the stated order in 
which they appear, and then apply the general law, thus discovered, to the 
explication of other appearances and the improvement of useful arts. 



44 AKENSIDE. 

Each would outstrip the other, each prevent 
Our careful search, and offer to your gaze, 
Unask'd, his motley features. Wait awhile, 
My curious friends ! and let us first arrange 
In proper order your promiscuous throng. 

Behold the foremost band ; l of slender thought, 
And easy faith ; whom flattering Fancy soothes 
"With lying spectres, in themselves to view 
Illustrious forms of excellence and good, 
That scorn the mansion. With exulting hearts 
They spread their spurious treasure to the sun, 
And bid the world admire ! but chief the glance 
Of wishful Envy draws their joy -bright eyes, 
And lifts with self- applause each lordly brow. 
In number boundless as the blooms of Spring, 
Behold their glaring idols, empty shades 
By Fancy gilded o'er, and then set up 
For adoration. Some in Learning's garb, 
With formal band, and sable-cinctur'd gown, 
And rags of mouldy volumes. Some elate 
With martial splendour, steely pikes and swords 
Of costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes 
Inwrought with flowery gold, assume the port 
Of stately valour : listening by his side 
There stands a female form ; to her, with looks 
Of earnest import, pregnant with amaze, 
He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms, 
And sulphurous mines, and ambush ; then at once 
Breaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale, 
And asks some wondering question of her fears. 
Others of graver mien behold, adorn'd 
With holy ensigns ; how sublime they move, 
And bending oft their sanctimonious eyes 
Take homage of the simple-minded throng ; 
Ambassadors of Heaven ! JNor much unlike 
Is he whose visage, in the hazy mist 
That mantles every feature, hides a brood 
Of politic conceits ; of whispers, nods, 
And hints deep omen'd with unwieldy schemes, 
And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more, 
Prodigious habits and tumultous tongues, 
Pour dauntless in and swell the boastful band. 

i The first and most general source of ridicule in the characters of men, is 
vanity, or self-applause for some desirable quality or possession which 
evidently does not belong to those who assume it. 



THE PLEASIJKES OF IMAGINATION. 45 

Then comes tlie second order j 1 all who seek 
The debt of praise, where watchful Unbelief 
Darts through the thin pretence her squinting eye 
On some retir'd appearance, which belies 
The boasted virtue, or annuls the applause 
That justice else would pay. Here side by side 
I see two leaders of the solemn train 
Approaching : one a female old and gray, 
With eyes demure, and wrinkle-furrow' d brow, 
Pale as the cheeks of death ; yet still she stuns 
The sickening audience with a nauseous tale ; 
How many youths her myrtle chains have worn, 
How many virgins at her triumphs pin'd ! 
Yet how resolv'd she guards her cautious heart ; 
Such is her terror at the risks of love, 
And man's seducing tongue ! The other seems 
A bearded sage, ungentle in his mien, 
And sordid all his habit ; peevish Want 
Grins at his heels, while down the gazing throng 
He stalks, resounding in magnific praise 
The vanity of riches, the contempt 
Of pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal, 
Ye grave associates ! let the silent grace 
Of her who blushes at the fond regard 
Her charms inspire, more eloquent unfold 
The praise of spotless honour : let the man 
Whose eye regards not his illustrious pomp 
And ample store, but as indulgent streams 
To cheer the barren soil and spread the fruits 
Of joy, let him by juster measures fix 
The price of riches and the end of power. 
Another tribe succeeds ; 2 deluded long 
By Fancy's dazzling optics, these behold 
The images of some peculiar things 
With brighter hues resplendent, and portray 'd 
With features nobler far than e'er adorn'd 
Their genuine objects. Hence the fever 'd heart 
Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms ; 
Hence oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn, 
Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays ! 

1 Eidicule from the same vanity, where, though the possession be real, yet 
no merit can arise from it, because of some particular circumstances, which, 
though obvious to the spectator, are yet overlooked by the ridiculous 
character. 

2 Eidicule from a notion of excellence in particular objects disproportioned 
to their intrinsic value, and inconsistent with the order of nature. 



46 AKE^SIDE. 

And serious manhood from the towering aim 

Of Wisdom, stoops to emulate the boast 

Of childish toil. Behold yon mystic form, 

Bedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells ! 

JN'ot with intenser view the Samian sage 

Bent his fix'd eye on heaven's intenser fires, 

When first the order of that radiant scene 

Swell' d his exulting thought, than this surveys 

A muckworm's entrails or a spider's fang. 

Next him a youth, with flowers and myrtles crown'd, 

Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels, 

With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue, 

To win her coy regard : adieu for him, 

The dull engagements of the bustling world ! 

Adieu the sick impertinence of praise ! 

And hope, and action ! for with her alone, 

By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours, 

Is all he asks, and all that fate can give ! 

Thee too, facetious Momion, 1 wandering here, 

Thee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheld 

Bewilder' d unawares : alas ! too long 

Flush' d with thy comic triumphs and the spoils 

Of sly derision ! till on every side 

Hurling thy random bolts, offended Truth 

Assign'd thee here thy station with the slaves 

Of Folly. Thy once formidable name 

Shall grace her humble records, and be heard 

In scoffs and mockery bandied from the lips 

Of all the vengeful brotherhood around, 

So oft the patient victims of thy scorn. 

But now, ye gay ! 2 to whom indulgent Fate, 

Of all the Muse's empire hath assign'd 

The fields of folly, hither each advance 

Your sickles ; here the teeming soil affords 

Its richest growth. A favourite brood appears ; 

In whom the demon, with a mother's joy, 

Views all her charms reflected, all her cares 

At full repaid. Ye most illustrious band ! 

Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules, 

And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant 

For souls sublime as yours, with generous zeal 

1 Under this name Akenside is supposed to have satirized Kichard Dawes, 
the master of the Newcastle Grammar School, who certainly recognised his 
own likeness in the portrait. — W. 

2 Eidicule from a notion of excellence, when the object is absolutely- 
odious or contemptible. This is the highest degree of the ridiculous - } as in 
the affectation of diseases or vices. 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 47 

Pay Vice the reverence Virtue long usurp'd, 
And yield Deformity the fond applause 
Which Beauty wont to claim ; forgive my song, 
That for the blushing diffidence of youth, 
It shuns the unequal province of your praise. 

Thus far triumphant in the pleasing guile 1 
Of bland Imagination, Folly's train 
Have dar'd our search ! but now a dastard kind 
Advance reluctant, and with faltering feet 
Shrink from the gazer's eye : enfeebled hearts 
Whom Fancy chills with visionary fears, 
Or bends to servile tameness with conceits 
Of shame, of evil, or of base defect, 
Fantastic and delusive. Here the slave 
Who droops abash'd when sullen Pomp surveys 
His humbler habit ; here the trembling wretch 
Unnerv'd and struck with Terror's icy bolts, 
Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears, 
At every dream of danger : here subdued 
By frontless Laughter and the hardy scorn 
Of old, unfeeling Yice, the abject soul, 
Who blushing half resigns the candid praise 
Of Temperance and Honour ; half disowns 
A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride ; 
And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouth 
With foulest licence mock the patriot's name. 

Last of the motley bands on whom the power 2 
Of gay Derision bends her hostile aim, 
Is that where shameful Ignorance presides. 
Beneath her sordid banners, lo ! they march 
Like blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful hands 
Attempt, Confusion straight appears behind, 
And troubles all the work. Through many a maze, 
Perplex'd they struggle, changing every path, 
O'erturning every purpose ; then at last 
Sit down dismay'd, and leave the entangled scene 
For Scorn to sport with. Such then is the abode 
Of Folly in the mind ; and such the shapes 
In which she governs her obsequious train. 

Through every scene of ridicule in things 3 

1 Ridicule from false shame or groundless fear. 

2 Eidicule from the ignorance of such things as our circumstances require 
us to know. 

3 " As for the poem, I am only just respiring from a pretty bold undertaking, 
not only in poetry, let me tell you, but even in philosophy, — namely, to 
develope and describe the general species and laws of ridicule in the charac- 
ters of men, and give an universal idea of it in every other subject. I have 



48 AKEffSIDE. 

To lead the tenor of niy devious lay ; 
Through every swift occasion, which the hand 
Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting 
Distends her sallying nerves and chokes her tongue ; 
"What were it but to count each crystal drop, 
Which Morning's dewy fingers on the blooms 
Of May distil ? Suffice it to have said, 
Where'er the power of Ridicule 1 displays 
Her quaint-ey'd visage, some incongruous form, 
Some stubborn dissonance of things combin'd 



been grievously put to it in the descriptive part. The general idea of the 
poem is rather bashfully candid— excuse the phrase — and ill admits any 
appearance of satire, though this inquiry was absolutely necessary to the 
plan, as relating to the materials and ground of comedy." — Akenside to 
Fordyce. — TV". 

1 By comparing these general sources of ridicule with each other, and 
examining the ridiculous in other objects, we may obtain a general defini- 
tion of it, equally applicable to every species. The most important 
circumstance of this definition is laid down in the lines referred to ; but 
others more minute we shall subjoin here. 1 Aristotle's account of the matter 
seems both imperfect and false ; " the ridiculous is some certain fault 
or turpitude without pain, and not destructive to its subject," (Poet. c. 5.) 
For allowing it to be true, as it is not, that the ridiculous is never accom- 
panied with pain, yet we might produce many instances of such a fault or 
turpitude which cannot with any tolerable propriety be called ridiculous. 
So that the definition does not distinguish the thing designed. Nay farther,' 
even when we perceive the turpitude tending to the destruction of its subject' 
we may still be sensible of a ridiculous appearance, till the ruin become 
imminent, and the keener sensations of pity or terror banish the ludicrous 
apprehension from our minds. Tor the sensation of ridicule is not a bare 
perception of the _ agreement or disagreement of ideas; but a passion or 
emotion of the mind consequential to that perception. So that the mind 
may perceive the agreement or disagreement, and yet not feel the ridiculous, 
because it is engrossed by a more violent emotion. Thus it happens that 
some men think those objects ridiculous, to which others cannot endure to 
apply the name ; because in them they excite a much intenser and more 
important feeling. And this difference, among other causes, has brought a 
good deal of confusion into this question. 

" That which makes objects ridiculous, is some ground of admiration or 
esteem connected with other more general circumstances comparatively 
worthless or deformed ; or it is some circumstance of turpitude or deformity 
connected with what is in general excellent or beautiful : the inconsistent 
properties existing either in the objects themselves, or in the apprehension 
of the person to whom they relate : belonging always to the same order or 
class of being: implying sentiment or design; and exciting no acute or 
vehement emotion of the heart." 

To prove the several parts of this definition : " The appearance of excel- 
lence or beauty connected with a general condition comparatively sordid or 
deformed," is ridiculous: for instance, pompous pretensions of wisdom 
joined with ignorance or folly in the Socrates of Aristophanes; and the 
ostentations of military glory with cowardice and stupidity in the Thraso of 
Terence. 

" The appearance of deformity or turpitude in conjunction with what is in 
general excellent or venerable," is also ridiculous : for instance, the personal 
weaknesses of a magistrate appearing in the solemn and public functions of 
his station. 

" The incongruous properties may either exist in the objects themselves 
or in the apprehension of the person to whom they relate :" in the last' 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAG-IXATIOS". 49 

Strikes on the quick observer : whether Pomp, 
Or Praise, or Beauty, mix their partial claim 
"Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds, 
Where foul Deformity are wont to dwell ; 
Or whether these with violation loach'd, 
Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien, 
The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise. 
Ask we for what fair end, the Almighty Sire 1 
In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt, 
These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust 

mentioned instance, they both exist in the objects ; in the instances from 
Aristophanes and Terence, one of them is objective and real, the other only 
founded in the apprehension of the ridiculous character. 

" The inconsistent properties must belong to the same order or class of 
being." A coxcomb in fine clothes, bedaubed by accident in foul weather, 
is a ridiculous object; because his general apprehension of excellence and 
esteem is referred to the splendour and expense of his dress. A man of 
sense and merit, in the same circumstances, is not counted ridiculous ; 
because the general ground of excellence and esteem in bim is, both in fact, 
and in his own apprehension, of a very different species. 

" Every ridiculous object implies sentiment or design." A column placed 
by an architect without a capital or base, is laughed at ; the same column in 
a ruin causes a very different sensation. 

And lastly, "the occurrence must excite no acute or vehement emotion 
of the heart," such as terror, pity, or indignation; for in that case, as was 
observed above, the mind is not at leisure to contemplate the ridiculous. 

"Whether any appearance not ridiculous be involved in this description, 
and whether it comprehend every species and form of the ridiculous, must 
be determined by repeated applications of it to particular instances. 

1 Since it is beyond all contradiction evident that we have a natural sense 
or feeling of the ridiculous, and since so good a reason may be assigned to 
justify the Supreme Being for bestowing it; one cannot, without astonish- 
ment, reflect on the conduct of those men who imagine it is for the service 
of true religion to vilify and blacken it without distinction, and endeavour to 
persuade us that it is never applied but in a bad cause. Eidicule is not con- 
cerned with mere speculative truth or falsehood. It is not in abstract pro- 
positions or theorems, but in actions and passions, good and evil, beauty 
and deformity, that we find materials for it ; and all these terms are relative, 
implying approbation or blame. To ask them whether ridicule be a test of 
truth, is, in other words, to ask whether that which is ridiculous can be 
morally true, can be just and becoming; or whether that which is just and 
becoming, can be ridiculous. A question that does not deserve a serious 
answer. Tor it is most evident, that, as in a metaphysical proposition 
offered to the understanding for its assent, the faculty of reason examines 
the terms of the proposition, and finding one idea, which was supposed equal 
to another, to be in fact unequal, of consequence rejects the proposition as 
a falsehood; so, in objects offered to the mind for its esteem or applause, 
the faculty of ridicule, finding an incongruity in the claim, urges the mind 
to reject it with laughter and contempt. "When, therefore, we observe such 
a claim obtruded upon mankind, and the inconsistent circumstances carefully 
concealed from the eye of the public, it is our business, if the matter be of 
importance to society, to drag out those latent circumstances, and by setting 
them in full view, to convince the world how ridiculous the claim' is ; and 
thus a double advantage is gained ; for we both detect the moral falsehood 
sooner than in the way of speculative enquiry, and impress the minds of 
men with a stronger sense of the vanity and error of its authors. And this 
and no more is meant by the application of ridicule. 

But it is said, the practice is dangerous, and may be inconsistent with the 
regard we owe to objects of real dignity and excellence. I answer, the 

E 



50 AKENSIDE. 

Educing pleasure ? Wherefore, but to aid 
The tardy steps of Reason, and at once 
By this prompt impulse urge us to depress 
The giddy aims of Folly ? Though the light 
Of Truth, slow dawning on the enquiring mind, 
At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie, 
How these uncouth disorders end at last 
In public evil ! yet benignant Heaven, 
Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears 
To thousands ; conscious what a scanty pause 
[From labours and from care, the wider lot 
Of humble life affords for studious thought 
To scan the maze of Nature ; therefore stamp'd 
The glaring scenes with characters of scorn, 
As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown, 
As to the letter'd sage's curious eye. 

Such are the various aspects of the mind — 
Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts 
Attain that secret harmony which blends 
The ethereal spirit with its mould of clay ; 
O ! teach me to reveal the grateful charm 
That searchless Mature o'er the sense of man 
Diffuses, to behold, in lifeless things, 
The inexpressive semblance of himself, 1 
Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woods 2 
That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow ; 
With what religious awe the solemn scene 

practice fairly managed can never be dangerous ; men may be dishonest in 
obtruding circumstances foreign to the object, and we may be inadvertent 
in allowing those circumstances to impose upon us ; but the sense of ridi- 
cule always judges right. The Socrates of Aristophanes is as truly ridiculous 
a character as ever was drawn : — true ; but it is not the character of Socrates, 
the divine moralist and father of ancient wisdom. What then ? did the ridi- 
cule of the poet hinder the philosopher from detecting and disclaiming those 
foreign circumstances which he had falsely introduced into his character, and 
thus rendering the satirist doubly ridiculous in his turn ? JSo ; but it neverthe- 
less had an ill influence on the minds of the people. And so has the reasoning 
of Spinoza made many atheists ; he has founded it indeed on suppositions 
utterly false ; but allow him these, and his conclusions are unavoidably true. 
And if we must reject the use of ridicule, because, by the imposition of false 
circumstances, things may be made to seem ridiculous, which are not so in 
themselves ; why we ought not in the same manner to reject the use of 
reason, because, by proceeding on false principles, conclusions will appear 
true which are impossible in nature, let the vehement and obstinate declaiiKiers 
against ridicule determine. 

1 This similitude is the foundation of almost all the ornaments of poetic 
diction. 

2 « One of the sublimest objects in natural scenery, is an old and deep wood 
covering the side of a mountain, when seen from below; yet how much 
greater sublimity is given to it by Dr. Akenside, by the addition of the 
solemn images which in the following lines are associated with it." — Alison, 
^JEssay on Taste, i. p. 29— W. 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 51 

Commands your steps ! as if the reverend form 
Of Minos or of Numa sliouid forsake 
The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade 
Move to your pausing eye ! Behold the expanse 
Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds 
Flit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze : 
jN"ow their gay cincture skirts the doubtful sun ; 
ISow streams of splendour, through their opening veil 
Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn 
The aerial shadows ; on the curling brook, 
And on the shady margin's quivering leaves 
"With quickest lustre glancing ; while you view 
The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast 
Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth 
With clouds and sunshine chequer'd, while the round 
Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue 
Of some gay nymph amid her subject train, 
Moves all obsequious ? Whence is this effect, 
This kindred power of such discordant things ? 
Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone 
To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers 
At first were strung ? Or rather from the links 
Which artful custom twines around her frame ? 

For when the different images of things, 
By chance combin'd, have struck the attentive soul 
With deeper impulse, or connected long, 
Have drawn her frequent eye ; howe'er distinct 
The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain 
From that conjunction an eternal tie, 
And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind 
B,ecal one partner of the various league, 
Immediate, lo ! the firm confederates rise, 
And each his former station straight resumes : 
One movement governs the consenting throng, 
And all at once with rosy pleasure shine, 
Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care. 
'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold, 
Two faithful needles, 1 from the informing touch 
Of the same parent stone, together drew 
• Its mystic virtue, and at first conspir'd 
With fatal impulse quivering to the pole : 
Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the main 
Holl'd its broad surge betwixt, and different stars 

1 See the elegant poem recited by Cardinal Bembo in the character of 
Lucretius; Strada Prolus. vi. Academ. 2. c. y, 
E 2 



52 ake:n t side. 

Beheld tlieir wakeful motions, yet preserv'd 
The former friendship, and remember'd still 
The alliance of their birth : whate'er the line 
Which one possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knew 
The sure associate, ere with trembling speed 
He found its path and fix'd unerring there. 
Such is the secret union, when we feel 
A song, a flower, a name, at once restore 
Those long connected scenes where first they mov'd 
The attention : backward through her mazy walks 
Guiding the wanton fancy to her scope, 
To temples, courts, or fields ; with all the band 
Of painted forms, of passions and designs 
Attendant : whence, if pleasing in itself, 
The prospect from that sweet accession gains 
Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind. 
By these mysterious ties, 1 the busy power 
Of Memory her ideal train preserves 
Entire ; or when they would elude her watch, 
Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste 
Of dark oblivion ; thus collecting all 
The various forms of being to present, 
Before the curious aim of mimic art, 
Their largest choice : like Spring's unfolded blooms 
Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee 
May taste at will, from their selected spoils 
To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse 
Of living lakes in Summer's noontide calm, 
Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens 
With fairer semblance ; not the sculptur'd gold 
More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, 
Than he whose birth the sister powers of art 
Propitious view'd, and from his genial star 
Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind ; 
Than his attemper'd bosom must preserve 
The seal of ]N"ature. There alone unchang'd, 
Her form remains. The balmy walks of May 
There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord 
Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear, 
Melodious : and the virgin's radiant eye, 
Superior to disease, to grief, and time, 
Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length, 
Endow'd with all that Nature can bestow, 
The child of Fancy oft in silence bends 

1 The act of remembering seems almost wholly to depend on the associa- 
tion of ideas. 



THE PLEASrEES OF i:\IAGIXAT ION. 53 

O'er these mixt treasures of his pregnant breast, 

"With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves 

To frame he knows not what excelling things ; 

And win he knows not what sublime reward 

Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind 

Feels her young nerves dilate : the plastic powers 

Labour for action : blind emotions heave 

His bosom ; and with loveliest frenzy caught, 

From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye, 

From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, 

Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call, 

Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth, 

From ocean's bed they come : the eternal heavens 

Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss 

Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze 

He marks the rising phantoms. Kow compares 

Their different forms ; now blends them, nov divides, 

Enlarges and extenuates by turns ; 

Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands, 

And infinitely varies. Hither now, 

Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim, 

With endless choice perplex' d. At length his plan 

Begins to open. Lucid order dawns ; 

And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds 

Of nature at the voice divine repair'd 

Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil' d 

Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun 

Sprung up the blue serene ; by swift degrees 

Thus disentangled, his entire design 

Emerges. Colours mingle, features join, 

And lines converge : the fainter parts retire ; 

The fairer eminent in light advance ; 

And every image on its neighbour smiles. 

Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy 

Contemplates. Then with Promethean art, 

Into its proper vehicle he breathes 1 

The fair conception : which, embodied thus, 

And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears 

An object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd, 

The various organs of his mimic skill, 

The consonance of sounds, the featur'd rock, 

The shadowy picture and impassion d verse, 

Beyond their proper powers attract the soul 

1 This relates to the different sorts of corporeal mediums, by which the 
ideas of the artists are rendered palpable to the senses ; as by sounds, in 
music ' 3 by lines and shadows, in painting ; by diction, in poetry, &e. 



54 AKE^TSIDE. 

By that expressive semblance, while, in sight 
Of nature's great original, we scan 
The lively child of Art ; while line by line, 
And feature after feature we refer 
To that sublime exemplar, whence it stole 
Those animating charms. Thus Beauty's palm 
Betwixt them wavering hangs ; applauding Love 
Doubts where to choose ; and mortal man aspires 
To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud 
Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice 
Inclos'd and obvious to the beaming sun, 
Collects his large effulgence ; straight the heavens 
With equal flames present on either hand 
The radiant visage : Persia stands at gaze, 
Appall'd ; and on the brink of Ganges doubts 
The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name, 
To which the fragance of the south shall burn, 
To which his warbled orisons ascend. 

Such various bliss the well-tun'd heart enjoys, 
Pavour'd of Heaven ! while, plunged in sordid cares, 
The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine : 
And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke 
Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away 
Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns 
Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain, 
Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judge 
Casts a disdainful eye : and calls my toil, 
And calls the love and beauty which I sing, 
The dream of folly. Thou grave censor ! say, 
Is beauty then a dream, because the glooms,' 
Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense, 
To let her shine upon thee ? So the man, 
Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven, 
Might smile with scorn while raptur'd vision tells 
Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright 
O'er all creation. From the wise be far 
Such gross unhallow'd pride ; nor needs my song 
Descend so low ; but rather now unfold, 
If human thought could reach, or words unfold, 
By what mysterious fabric of the mind, 
The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound 
[Result from airy motion ; and from shape 
The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair. 
By what fine ties hath God connected things 
When present in the mind, which in themselves 
Have no connexion ? Sure the rising sun 



THE PLEASUKES OF IMAGINATION. 55 

O'er the cerulean convex of the sea, 
With equal brightness and with equal warmth 
Might roll his fiery orb ; nor yet the soul 
Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers 
Exulting in the splendour she beholds ; 
Like a young conqueror through the pomp 
Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve, 
Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath 
Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain 
Attemper, could not man's discerning ear 
Through all its tones the sympathy pursue ; 
Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy 
Steal through his veins, and fan the awaken'd heart, 
Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song. 
But were not Nature still endow'd at large 
With all which life requires, though unadorn'd 
With such enchantment ? Wherefore then her form 
So exquisitely fair ? her breath perfum'd 
With such ethereal sweetness P whence her voice 
Inform' d at will to raise or to depress 
The impassion'd soul ? and whence the robes of light 
Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp 
Than Fancy can describe ? Whence but from Thee, 
O source divine of ever-flowing love, 
And thy unmeasur'd goodness ? Not content 
W^ith every food of life to nourish man, 
By kind illusions of the wondering sense 
Thou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye, 
Or music to his ear ; well-pleas'd he scans 
The goodly prospect ; and with inward smiles 
Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain -, 
Beholds the azure canopy of heaven, 
And living lamps that over-arch his head 
With more than regal splendour ; bends his ears 
To the full choir of water, air, and earth ; 
Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, 
Nor doubts the painted green, or azure arch, 
Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds, 
Than space, or motion, or eternal time ; 
So sweet he feels their influence to attract 
The fixed soul ; to brighten the dull glooms 
Of care, and make the destin'd road of life 
Delightful to his feet. So fables tell, 
The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits, 
Beholds with glad surprise by secret spells 
Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils, 



56 AKE^SIDE. 

A visionary paradise disclos'cl 

Amid the dubious wild : with streams, and shades, 

And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles, 

Cheers his long labours and renews his frame. 1 

What then is taste, but these internal powers 

Active, and strong, and feelingly alive 

To each line impulse ? a discerning sense 

Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust 

From things deform'd or disarrang'd, or gross 

In species ? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, 

]N"or purple state, nor culture, can bestow ; 

But God alone, when first his active hand 

Imprints the secret bias of the soul. 

He, mighty Parent ! wise and just in all, 

Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven, 

Heveals the charms of JSTature. Ask the swain 

Who journeys homeward from a summer day's 

Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils 

And due repose, he loiters to behold 

The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds, 

O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween, 

His rude expression and untutor'd airs, 

Beyond the power of language, will unfold 

The form of beauty smiling at his heart, 

How lovely ! how commanding ! But though Heaven 

In every breast hath sown these early seeds 

Of love and admiration, yet in vain, 

Without fair culture's kind parental aid, 

Without enlivening suns and genial showers, 

And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope 

The tender plant should rear its blooming head, 

Or yield the harvest promis'd in its spring. 

1 " He "has made everything that is beautiful in all other respects pleasant, 
or rather, has made so many objects appear beautiful, that he might render 
the whole creation more gay and delightful. He has given almost everything 
about us the power of raising an agreeable idea in the imagination ; so that it 
is impossible for us to behold his works with coldness or indifference, and to 
survey so many beauties without a secret satisfaction and complacency. We 
are everywhere entertained with pleasing shows and apparitions, we discover 
imaginary glories in the heavens, and in the earth, and see some of this 
visionarv beauty poured out upon the whole creation; but what a rough, un- 
sightly sketch of Nature should we be entertained with, did all her colouring 
disappear, and the several distinctions of light and shade vanish ? In short, 
our souls are at present delightfully lost and bewildered in a pleasing delu- 
sion, and we walk about like the enchanted hero in a romance, who sees 
beautiful castles, woods, and meadows, and at the same time hears the war- 
bling of birds, and the purling of streams, but upon the finishing of some 
secret spell, the fantastic scene breaks up, and the disconsolate knight finds 
himself on a barren heath, or in a solitary desart." — Addisox, Spectator, 
No. 413— W. 



THE PLEASURES OP IMAGINATION. 57 

Xor yet will every soil with equal stores 

Eepay the tiller's labour : or attend 

His will, obsequious, whether to produce 

Tlie olive or the laurel. Different minds 

Incline to different objects ; one pursues l 

The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ; 

Another sighs for harmony, and grace, 

And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning fires 

The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground, 

When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air. 

And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed. 

Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky ; 

Amid the mighty uproar, while below 

The nations tremble. Shakespeare looks abroad 

From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys 

The elemental war. But AYaller longs, 2 

All on the margin of some flowery stream 

To spread his careless linibs amid the cool 

Of plantane shades, and to the listening deer 

The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain 

Eesound soft-warbling all the livelong day : 

Consenting Zephyr sighs ; the weeping rill 

Joins in his plaint, melodious ; mute the groves ; 

And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn. 

Such and so various are the tastes of men. 

Oh! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid songs 
Of Luxury, the Siren ! not the bribes 
Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
Of pageant Honour can seduce to leave 
Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 
Of Mature fair Imagination culls 
To charm the enliven'd soul ! "What though not all 
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights 
Of envied life ; though only few possess 
Patrician treasures or imperial state ; 
Yet Nature's care, to all her children just, 
With richer treasures and an ampler state, 
Endows at large whatever happy man 

1 See the note to ver. 13 of this book. 

2 O ! ho-w I long my careless linibs to lay 
Under the plantane shade : and all the day 
V\ ith amorous airs my fancy entertain, &c. 

WaMiEB, Battle of the Summer Islands, Canto I. 



And again, 



"While in the park I sing, the list'ning deer 
Attend my passion, ana forget to fear, kc. 

At Penshurst . 



58 AKEFSIDE. 

Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 1 
The rural honours his. "Whate'er adorns 
The princely dome, the column and the arch, 
The breathing marbles and the sculp tur'd gold, 
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, 
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the Spring 
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem 
Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand 
Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch 
With blooming gold and blushes like the morn. 
Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings ; 
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, 
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze 2 
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 
From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. IN" or thence partakes 
Fresh pleasure only : for the attentive mind, 
By this harmonious action on her powers 
Becomes herself harmonious : wont so oft 
In outward things to meditate the charm 
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home 
To find a kindred order, to exert 
Within herself this elegance of love, 
This fair-inspir'd delight : her temper'd powers 
Refine at length, and every passion wears 

1 " It is but opening the eye, and the scene enters. The colours paint 
themselves on the fancy. A man of a polite imagination is let into a great 
many pleasures that the vulgar are not capable of receiving. He can con- 
verse with a picture, and find an agreeable companion in a statue. He meets 
■with a secret refreshment in a description, and often feels a greater satisfac- 
tion in the prospect of fields and meadows, than another does in the 
possession. It gives, indeed, a kind of property in everything he sees, and 
makes the most uncultivated parts of nature administer to his pleasures ; so 
that he looks upon the world, as it were in another light, and discovers in it 
a multitude of charms, that conceal themselves from the generality of man- 
kind."— Addison, Spectator, ISTo. 411. — W. 

2 That this account may not appear rather poetically extravagant than 
just in philosophy, it may be proper to produce the sentiment of one of the 
greatest, wisest, and best of men on this head ; one so little to be suspected 
of partiality in the case, that he reckons it among those favours for which he 
was especially thankful to the gods, that they had not suffered him to make 
any great proficiency in the arts of eloquence and poetry, lest by that means 
he should have been diverted from pursuits of more importance to his high 
station. Speaking of the beauty of universal nature, he observes, that there 
" is a pleasing and graceful aspect in every object we perceive," when once 
we consider its connexion with that general order. He instances many 
things which at first sight would be thought rather deformities ; and then 
adds, " that a man, who enjoys a sensibility of temper with a just compre- 
hension of the universal order, will discern many amiable things, not credible 
to every mind, but to those alone who have entered into an honourable 
familiarity with nature and her works/' — M. Antonio, iii. 2. 




" Not a breeze 
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 
From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
Fiesh pleasure," unreprov'd."— Book iii. p. 51 



THE PLEASUEES OE IMAGINATION. 59 

A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 

But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze 

On Nature's form, where, negligent of all 

These lesser graces, she assumes the port 

Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh' d 

The world's foundations, if to these the mind 

Exalts her daring eye ; then mightier far 

"Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms 

Of servile custom cramp her generous powers ? 

Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth 

Of ignorance and rapine, bow her clown 

To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear ? 

Lo ! she appeals to Nature, to the winds 

And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, 

The elements and seasons : all declare 

Eor what the Eternal Maker has ordain' d 

The powers of man : we feel within ourselves 

His energy divine : he tells the heart, 

He meant, he made us to behold and love 

What he beholds and loves, the general orb 

Of life and being ; to be great like him, 

Beneficent and active. Thus the men, 

Whom Nature's works can charm, with God himself 

Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day, 

With his conceptions, act upon his plan ; 

And form to his, the relish of their souls. 



60 AKE^SIDE. 



THE PLEASUEES OF IMAGINATION. 

[The general character of the revised Poem is well described by 
Kippis, in a note to his memoir of Akenside. The first book bears 
the closest resemblance to its predecessor. But it is corrected, altered, 
and enlarged. The Pleasures of Imagination are referred ' ' to two 
sources only, Greatness and Beauty, and not to three," as in the 
former work. The delineation of beautiful objects is expanded; an 
affectionate tribute to Mr. Dyson is inserted : ' ' and upon the whole 
this first book seems to have received no small degree of improve- 
ment. The second book is very different from the second book of 
the preceding editions. The difference, indeed, is so great, that 
they cannot be compared together. The author enters into a display 
of truth, and by three classes, matter of fact, experimental or scien- 
tific truth, and universal truth. He treats, likewise, of virtue as 
existing in the Divine Mind, of human virtue, of vice and its origin, 
of ridicule, and of the passions. What he hath said upon the sub- 
ject of ridicule is greatly and advantageously reduced from what it 
was in the former copies. The enumeration of the different sources 
of ridicule is left out ; and, consequently, the lines which had given 
offence to Dr. Warburton. The allegorical vision, which heretofore 
constituted a principal part of the second book, is likewise omitted. 
The poetical character of the second book, as it now stands, is, that 
it is correct, moral, and noble. The third book is an episode, in 
which Solon, the Athenian lawgiver, is the chief character ; and the 
design of it seems to be to show the great influence of poetry in en- 
forcing the cause of liberty. This part is entirely new ; and if it 
had been finished, it would have proved a beautiful addition to the 
poem." 

These judicious observations of Kippis are confirmed by critics 
of purer taste. The two poems ought always to be printed together ; 
for Miss Seward's remark is true, that "if the bard has with too 
severe a hand lopped away many beautiful luxuriances of his 
youthful fancy, he has, in the last work, rendered a number of 
passages perspicuous which were obscured in the first." They are 
pictures of the author's mind, under the different effects of its light and 
shade ; very pleasing in themselves, and suggesting a most interest- 
ing comparison between the spring and the autumn fancy; the 
morning of invention, in its glow and splendour, and the colder but 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. 61 

clearer lights of evening. The charm of each poem is that of its 
season. The earlier is the brighter, and the more swelling with bloom 
and life ; the later is the more chaste and thoughtful. The poet 
is chiefly seen in one, the artist in the other. But Akenside did 
not escape the peril of a mightier minstrel, who has told us, how 

" My pleasing theme continual prompts my thoughts ;" 

and if, like Thomson, his verses gained a smoother polish, they 
sometimes lost their richness under the file. Mrs. Barbaukl 
observes, with equal elegance and truth, that "the flowers of fancy 
are apt to lose their odour by much handling ; and the ear itself, 
after a certain time, loses its tact amidst repeated alterations, as the 
taste becomes confounded by the successive trial of different fla- 
vours." It must always be a subject of regret that the death of the 
poet prevented the completion of his task. The fragment of the 
fourth book is a most delightful specimen of his best manner. It 
was the last touch upon his harp ; the hand lost its cunning in the 
summer of that year ; and the strings were broken by death. The 
following is the general introduction :] 



The pleasures of the imagination proceed either from natural 
objects, <as from a flourishing grove, a clear and murmuring fountain, 
a calm sea by moonlight ; or from works of art, such as a noble 
edifice, a musical tune, a statue, a picture, a poem. In treating oi 
these pleasures, we must begin with the former class, they being 
original to the other ; and nothing more being necessary, in order 
to explain them, than a view of our natural inclination toward 
greatness and beauty, and of those appearances, in the world around 
us, to which that inclination is adapted. This is the subject of the 
first book of the following poem. 

But the pleasures which we receive from the elegant arts, from 
music, sculpture, painting, and poetry, are much more various and 
complicated. In them (besides greatness and beauty, or forms 
proper to the imagination,) we find interwoven frequent representa- 
tions of truth, of virtue and vice, of circumstances proper to move 
us with laughter, or to excite in us pity, fear, and the other 
passions. These moral and intellectual objects are described in the 
second book ; to which the third properly belongs as an episode, 
though too large to have been included in it. 

With the above-mentioned causes of pleasure, which are universal 
in the course of human life, and appertain to our higher faculties, 



62 AKEISTSIDE. 

many others do generally occur, more limited in their operation, or 
of an inferior origin ; such are the novelty of objects, the asso- 
ciation of ideas, affections of the bodily senses, influences of educa- 
tion, national habits, and the like. To illustrate these, and from 
the whole to determine the character of a perfect taste, is the 
argument of the fourth book. 

Hitherto the pleasures of the imagination belong to the human 
species in general. But there are certain particular men whose 
imagination is endowed with powers, and susceptible of pleasures, 
which the generality of mankind never participate. These are the 
men of genius, destined by nature to excel in one or other of the 
arts already mentioned. It is proposed, therefore, in the last 
place, to delineate that genius which in some degree appears 
common to them all ; yet with a more peculiar consideration of 
poetry ; inasmuch as poetry is the most extensive of those arts, the 
most philosophical, and the most useful. 

BOOK I. 1757. 

ARGUMENT. 

The subject proposed — Dedication — The ideas of the Supreme Being, 
the exemplars of all things — The variety of constitution in the 
minds of men, with its final cause — The general character of a 
fine imagination — All the immediate pleasures of the human 
imagination proceed either from Greatness or Beauty in external 
objects — The pleasure from Greatness, with its final cause — The 
natural connexion of Beauty with truth 1 and good — The different 
orders of Beauty in different objects — The infinite and all-com- 
prehending form of Beauty, which belongs to the Divine Mind — ■ 
The partial and artificial forms of Beauty, which belong to 
inferior intellectual beings — The origin and general conduct of 
beauty in man — The subordination of local beauties to the beauty 
of the Universe — Conclusion. 

With what enchantment Nature's goodly scene 
Attracts the sense of mortals ; how the mind 
For its own eye doth objects nobler still 
Prepare ; how men by various lessons learn 
To judge of Beauty's praise ; what raptures fill 
The breast with fancy's native arts endow'd, 
And what true culture guides it to renown ; 

i Truth is here taken, not in a logical, but in a mixed and popular sense. 
or for what has been called the truth of things; denoting as well their 
natural and regular condition, as a proper estimate or judgment concerning 
them. 



THE PLEASEEES OE IMAGINATION. 63 

My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers, 

Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend 

Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard 

Move in majestic measures, leading on 

His doubtful step through many a solemn path. 

Conscious of secrets which to human sight 

Ye only can reveal. Be great in him : 

And let your favour make him wise to speak 

Of all your wondrous empire ; with a voice 

So tempered to his theme, that those, who hear 

May yield perpetual homage to yourselves. 

Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love, 

Whate'er thy name ; or Muse, or Grace, ador'd 

By Grecian prophets ; to the sons of Heaven 

Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there 

The perfect counsels read, the ideas old, 

Of thine omniscient Father ; known on earth 

By the still horror and the blissful tear 

With which thou seizest on the soul of man ; 

Thou chief, Poetic Spirit, from the banks 

Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull 

Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf 

T\ Tiere Shakespeare lies, be present. And with thee 

Let Fiction come ; on her aerial wings 

"Wafting ten thousand colours ; which in sj)ort, 

By the light glances of her magic eye, 

She blends and shifts at will through countless forms, 

Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre, 

Whose awful tones control the moving sphere, 

Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend, 

And join this happy train P for with thee comes 

The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites, 

Wise Order : and, where Order deigns to come, 

Her sister, Liberty, will not be far. 

Be present all ye Genii, who conduct 

Of youthful bards the lonely wandering step [ear 

New to your springs and shades ; who touch their 

With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye 

The pomp of nature, and before them place 

The fairest, loftiest countenance of things. 

Nor thou, my Dyson, to the lay refuse 
Thy wonted partial audience. What, though first 
In years unseason'cl, haply ere the sports 
Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay 
With many splendid prospects, many charms, 
Allur'd my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung, 



64 AKENSIEE. 

Nor lieedful of their end? yet serious Truth 

Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme, 

Asserted soon; while Falsehood's evil brood, 

Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once 

Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil 

Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid 

Thy friendship added, in the paths of life, 

The busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet 

Preserving : nor to Truth's recess divine, 

Through this wide argument's unbeaten space, 

Withholding surer guidance ; while by turns 

We trac'd the sages old, or while the queen 

Of sciences (whom manners and the mind 

Acknowledge) to my true companion's voice 

Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp 

Inclin'd her sceptre favouring. Now the fates 

Have other tasks impos'd : — to thee, my friend, 

The ministry of freedom and the faith 

Of popular decrees in early youth, 

Not vainly they committed : me they sent 

To wait on pain ; and silent arts to urge, 

Inglorious : not ignoble ; if my cares, 

To such as languish on a grievous bed, 

Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill 

Conciliate : nor delightless ; if the Muse, 

Her shades to visit and to taste her springs, 

If some distinguish'd hours the bounteous Muse 

Impart, and grant (what she and she alone 

Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths 

Of fame and honest favour, which the bless'd 

Wear in Elysium, and which never felt 

The breath of envy or malignant tongues, 

That these my hand for thee and for myself 

May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend, 

O early chosen, ever found the same, 

And trusted and belov'd ; once more the verse 

Long destin'd, always obvious to thine ear, 

Attend, indulgent : so in latest years, 

W r hen time thy head with honours shall have cloth'd 

Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind, 

Amid the calm review of seasons past, 

Eair offices of friendship, or kind peace, 

Or public zeal, may then thy mind well-pleas 'd 

Kecal these happy studies of our prime. 

Erom Heaven my strains begin : from Heaven 
descends 



THE PEEASEBES OE IMAGINATION. 65 

The flame of genius to the chosen breast, 

And beauty with poetic wonder join'd, 

And inspiration. Ere the rising sun 

Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of night 

The moon her silver lamp suspended : ere 

The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves 

Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd ; 

Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore, 

Within his own deep essence view'd the forms, 

The forms eternal of created things : 

The radiant sun ; the moon's nocturnal lamp ; 

The mountains and the streams ; the ample stores 

Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first, 

On that full scene his love divine he fix'd 

His admiration : till, in time complete, 

What he admir'd and lov'd his vital power 

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath 

Of life informing each organic frame : 

Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves : 

Hence light and shade, alternate : warmth and cold; 

And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers, 

And all the fair variety of things. 

But not alike to every mortal eye 
Is this great scene unveil' d. For while the claims 
Of social life to different labours urge 
The active powers of man, with wisest care 
Hath Nature on the multitude of minds 
Impress'd a various bias ; and to each 
Decreed its province in the common toil. 
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, 
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, 
The golden zones of heaven : to some she gave 
To search the story of eternal thought; 
Of space, and time ; of fate's unbroken chain, 
And will's quick movement : others by the hand 
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore 
What healing virtue dwells in every vein 
Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes 
Were destin'd : some within a finer mould 
She wrought, and temper' d with a purer flame. 
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds, 
In fuller aspects, and with fairer lights, 
This picture of the world. Through every part 
They trace the lofty sketches of his hand : 
In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store, 
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien 



6(j AKENSTDE. 

Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray 'd 
(As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan) 
Those lineaments of beauty which delight 
The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force, 
Enamour 'd : they partake the eternal joy. 

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd 
Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch 
Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth 
Spontaneous music; so doth Nature's hand, 
To certain attributes, which matter claims, 
Adapt the finer organs of the mind : 
So the glad impulse of those kindred powers 
(Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound 
Melodious, or of motion aptly sped) 
Detains the enliyen'd sense ; till soon the soul 
Eeels the deep concord, and assents through all 
Her functions. Then the charm, by fate prepar'd, 
Diffuseth its enchantment. Fancy dreams, 
Rapt into high discourse with prophets old, 
And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams 
Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves, 
Whose walks with godlike harmony resound : 
Fountains, which Homer visits ; happy groves, 
Where Milton dwells : the intellectual power, 
On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares, 
And smiles : the passions, to divine repose 
Persuaded, yield : and love and joy alone 
Are waking : love and joy, such as await 
An angel's meditation. O ! attend, 
Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch ; 
Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb 
Can thus command ; O, listen to my song ; 
And I will guide thee to her blissful walks, 
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear, 
And point her gracious features to thy view. 

Know then, whate'er of the world's ancient store, 
Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes, 
With love and admiration thus inspire 
Attentive Eancy, her delighted sons 
In two illustrious orders comprehend, 
Self-taught. From him whose rustic toil the lark 
Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts 
Range the full orb of being, still the form, 
Which fancy worships, or sublime or fair 
Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn : 



THE PLEASTJKES OE IMAanfATIOK. 6/ 

I see tlie radiant visions where they rise, 

More lovely than when Lucifer displays 

His glittering forehead through the gates of morn, 

To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring. 

Say, why was man so eminently rais'd 
Amid the vast creation ; why impower'd 
Through life and death to dart his watchful eye, 
With Thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ; 
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth, 
In sight of angels and immortal minds, 
As on an ample theatre to join 
In contest with his equals, who shall best 
The task achieve, the course of noble toils, 
By wisdom and by mercy preordain'd? 
Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn ; 
To chase each meaner purpose from his breast; 
And through the mists of passion and of sense, 
And through the pelting storms of chance and pain, 
To hold straight on with constant heart, and eye 
Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm, [burns 

The approving smile of Heaven ? Else wherefore 
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, 
That seeks from day to day sublimer ends ; 
Happy, though restless P Why departs the soul 
"Wide from the track and journey of her times, 
To grasp the good she knows not ? In the field 
Of things which may be, hi the spacious field 
Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms, 
To raise up scenes in which her own desires 
Contented may repose ; when things, which are, 
Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale : 
Her temper, still demanding to be free ; 
Spurning the rude control of wilful might ; 
Proud of her dangers brav'd, her griefs endur'd, 
Her strength severely prov'd ? To these high aims, 
Which reason and affection prompt in man, 
ISTot adverse nor unapt hath Mature fram'd 
His bold imagination. For, amid 
The various forms which this full world presents 
Like rivals to his choice, what human breast 
E'er doubts, before the transient and minute, 
To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime ? 
Who, that from heights aerial sends his eye 
Around a wild horizon, and surveys 
Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave 
v 2 



68 . AKE1STSIDE. 

Through mountains, plains, through spacious cities old, 

And regions dark with woods ; will turn away 

To mark the path of some penurious rill 

Which murmureth at his feet? Where does the soul 

Consent her soaring fancy to restrain, 

Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings, 

Destin'd for highest heaven ; or which of fate's 

Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight 

To any humbler quarry ? The rich earth 

Cannot detain her ; nor the ambient air 

With all its changes. For a while with joy 

She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small 

Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam, 

Emerging from the deep, like cluster 'd isles 

Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye 

[Reflect the gleams of morning : for a while 

With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway 

Bend the reluctant planets to move each 

Hound its perpetual year. But soon she quits 

That prospect : meditating loftier views 

She darts adventurous up the long career 

Of comets ; through the constellations holds 

Her course, and now looks back on all the stars 

Whose blended flames, as with a milky stream, 

Part the blue region. Empyrean tracts, 

Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven 

Abide, she then explores, whence purer light 

Eor countless ages travels through the abyss, 

'Noy hath in sight of mortals yet arriv'd. 

Upon the wide creation's utmost shore 

At length she stands, and the dread space beyond 

Contemplates, half-recoiling : nathless down 

The gloomy void, astonish'd, yet unquell'd, 

She plungeth ; down the unfathomable gulf 

Where Grod alone hath being. There her hopes 

Rest at the fated goal. Eor, from the birth 

Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said 

That not in humble, nor in brief delight, 

"Not in the fleeting echoes of renown, 

Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap, 

The soul should find contentment ; but, from these 

Turning disdainful to an equal good, 

Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim, 

Till every bound at length should disappear, 

And infinite perfection fill the scene. 

But lo, where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pomp, 
With comely steps advancing, claims the verse 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 69 

Her charms inspire. O Beauty, source of praise, 

Of honour, ev'n to mute and lifeless things ; 

O thou that kindlest in each human heart 

Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue 

Would teach to other bosoms what so charms 

Their own ; O child of Nature and the soul, 

In happiest hour brought forth ; the doubtful garb 

Of words, of earthly language, all too mean, 

Too lowly I account, in which to clothe 

Thy form divine : for thee the mind alone 

Beholds ; nor half thy brightness can reveal 

Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch 

O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse 

If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou 

Thy favourable seasons : then, while fear 

And doubt are absent, thro' wide nature's bounds 

Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will 

Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains, 

Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, 

To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise, 

And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend 

Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles 

Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime, 

Fly in the train of Autumn ; and look on, 

And learn from him ; while, as he roves around, 

Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, 

The branches bloom with gold ; where'er his foot 

Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell, 

Turning aside their foliage, and come forth 

In purple lights, till every hillock glows 

As with the blushes of an evening sky ? 

Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace, 

Where slow Peneus his clear glassy tide 

Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs 

Of Ossa, and the pathless woods unshorn 

That wave o'er huge Olympus ? Down the stream, 

Look how the mountains with their double range 

Embrace the vale of Tempe : from each side 

Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound 

Cover' d with ivy and the laurel boughs 

That crown' d young Phoebus for the Python slain. 

Eair Tempe ! on whose primrose banks the morn 

Awoke most fragrant, and the noon repos'd 

In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime : 

Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet 

Had trac'd an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt 

Of sylvan powers immortal ; where they sate 



70 AKEWSIDE. 

Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns, 
Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood, 
And leaning round hung on the instructive lips 
Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale 
Danc'd in light measures to his sevenfold pipe, 
"While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path 
Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews, 
And one perpetual spring. But if our task 
More lofty rites demand, with all good vows 
Then let us hasten to the rural haunt 
"Where young Melissa dwells. JN"or thou refuse 
The voice which calls thee from thy lov'd retreat, 
But hither, gentle maid, thy footsteps turn -. 
Here, to thy own unquestionable theme, 
O fair, O graceful, bend thy polish'd brow, 
Assenting ; and the gladness of thy eyes 
Impart to me, like morning's wished light 
Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream, 
Where beech and elm along the bordering mead 
Send forth wild melody from every bough, 
Together let us wander ; where the hills 
Cover' d with fleeces to the lowing vale 
Reply ; where tidings of content and peace 
Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun 
O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul, 
DifFuseth glad repose ! There while I speak 
Of Beauty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou 
Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell 
How first from Heaven she came : how after all 
The works of life, the elemental scenes, 
The hours, the seasons, she had oft explor'd, 
At length her favourite mansion and her throne 
She fix'd in woman's form : what pleasing ties 
To virtue bind her ; what effectual aid 
They lend each other's power ; and how divine 
Their union, should some unambitious maid, 
To all the enchantment of the Idalian queen 
Add sanctity and wisdom : while my tongue 
Prolongs the tale, Melissa, thou mayst feign 
To wonder whence my rapture is inspir'd ; 
But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip 
Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all 
That soft cheek springing to the marble neck, 
Which bends aside in vain, revealing more 
What it would thus keep silent, and in vain 
The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song 



THE PLEASUEES OE IMAGINATION. 71 

Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform 

With joy and love the rugged breast of man, 

Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme : 

While all whose souls have ever felt the force 

Of those enchanting passions, to my lyre 

Should throng attentive, and receive once more 

Their influence, unobscur'd by any cloud 

Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand 

Of Fortune can bestow ; nor, to confirm 

Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn 

To join his dictates to the genuine strain 

Of Pleasure's tongue ; nor yet should Pleasure's ear 

Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band 

Of youths and virgins, who through many a wish 

And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene 

Of magic bright and fleeting, are allur'd 

By various Beauty ; if the pleasing toil 

Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn 

Your favourable ear, and trust my words. 

I do not mean, on bless'd Religion's seat 

Presenting Superstition's gloomy form, 

To dash your soothing hopes : I do not mean 

To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens, 

Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth, 

And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song 

"With happier omens calls you to the field, 

Pleas'd with your generous ardour in the chase, 

And warm like you. Then tell me (for ye know) 

Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use 

And aptitude are strangers ? is her praise 

Confess'd in aught whose most peculiar ends 

Are lame and fruitless ? or did Nature mean 

This pleasing call the herald of a lie, 

To hide the shame of discord and disease, 

And win each fond admirer into snares, 

Foil'd, baffled ? No : — with better providence 

The general mother, conscious how infirm 

Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill, 

Thus, to the choice of credulous desire, 

Doth objects the eompletest of their tribe 

Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery bank 

Cloth 5 d in the soft magnificence of Spring, 

Will not the flocks approve it ? will they ask 

The reedy fen for pasture ? That clear rill, 

Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock, 

Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn 



72 AKEKSIDE. 

And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool 
With muddy weeds o'ergrown ? Yon ragged vine 
Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage 
Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl 
Heport of her, as of the swelling grape 
Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem 
When first it meets the sun ? Or what are all 
The various charms to life and sense adjoin' d ? 
Are they not pledges of a state entire, 
Where native order reigns, with every part 
In health, and every function well perform'd ? 

Thus then at first was Beauty sent from Heaven, 
The lovely ministress of Truth and Good 
In this dark world : for Truth and Good are one ; 
And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 
With like participation. Wherefore then, 
O sons of earth, would ye dissolve the tie ? 
O ! wherefore with a rash and greedy aim 
Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene 
Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire 
Where is the suffrage of eternal Truth, 
Or where the seal of undeceitful good, 
To save your search from folly ? Wanting these, 
Lo, Beauty withers in your void embrace ; 
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy 
Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope, 
That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast, 
Be hence appall'd ; be turn'd to coward sloth 
Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes 
Incurious, and with folded hands. Far less 
Let scorn of wild fantastic folly's dreams, 
Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride 
Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love 
Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear 
The sacred lore of undeceitful good 
And Truth eternal. From the vulgar crowd 
Though Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd, 
The reverence due to this majestic pair 
With threats and execration still demands ; 
Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way 
To their celestial dwelling, she constrains 
To quench or set at nought the lamp of God 
Within his frame ; through many a cheerless wild 
Though forth she leads him credulous and dark, 
And awed with dubious notion ; though at length 
Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells 



THE PLEASTTKES OF IMAGINATION. 73 

And mansions unrelenting as the grave. 

But void of quiet, there to watch the hours 

Of midnight ; there, amid the screaming owl's 

Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades 

To talk of pangs and everlasting woe : 

Yet be not ye dismay' d. A gentler star 

Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower 

Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons, 

Could but my happy hand entwine a wreath 

Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay, 

Then (for what need of cruel fear to you, 

To you whom godlike love can well command ?) 

Then should my powerful voice at once dispel 

Those monkish horrors ; should in words divine 

Relate how favour'd minds like you inspir'd, 

And taught their inspiration to conduct 

By ruling Heaven's decree, through various walks 

And prospects various, but delightful all, 

Move onward ; while now myrtle groves appear, 

jS"ow arms and radiant trophies, now the rods 

Of empire with the curule throne, or now 

The domes of contemplation and the Muse. 

Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye 

Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth 

Discerns the nobler life reserv'd for heaven, 

Favour'd alike they worship round the shrine 

Where Truth, conspicuous with her sister-twins, 

The undivided partners of her sway, 

With Good and Beauty reigns. O ! let not us, 

By Pleasure's lying blandishments detain'd, 

Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage, 

O ! let not us one moment pause to join 

That chosen band. And if the gracious Power, 

Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song, 

Will to my invocation grant anew 

The tuneful spirit, then through all our paths 

KVer shall the sound of this devoted lyre 

Be wanting ; whether on the rosy mead 

When Summer smiles, to warn the melting heart 

Of Luxury's allurement ; whether firm 

Against the torrent and the stubborn hill 

To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side 

Summon that strong divinity of soul 

Which conquers Chance and Fate : or on the height. 

The goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim 

Her triumph ; on her brow to place the crown 



74 AEE^SIDE. 

Of nn corrupted praise ; through future worlds 

To follow her interminated way, 

And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man. 

Such is the worth of Beauty : such her power, 
So blameless, so rever'd. It now remains, 
In just gradation through the various ranks 
Of being, to contemplate how her gifts 
[Rise in due measure, watchful to attend 
The steps of rising Nature. Last and least, 
In colours mingling with a random blaze, 
Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the forms 
Of simplest, easiest measure ; in the bounds 
Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent 
To symmetry adds colour : thus the pearl 
Shines in the concave of its purple bed, 
And painted shells along some winding shore 
Catch with indented folds the glancing sun. 
Next, as we rise, appear the blooming tribes 
Which clothe the fragrant earth ; which draw from 

her 
Their own nutrition ; which are born and die ; 
Yet, in their seed, immortal : such the flowers 
With which young Maia pays the village-maids 
That hail her natal morn ; and such the groves 
Which blithe Pomona rears on Vaga's bank, 
To feed the bowl of Ariconian swains 
Who quaff beneath her branches. Nobler still 
Is Beauty's name where, to the full consent 
Of members and of features, to the pride 
Of colour, and the vital change of growth, 
Life's holy flame with piercing sense is given, 
While active motion speaks the temper 'd soul : 
So moves the bird of Juno : so the steed 
With rival swiftness beats the dusty plain, 
And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy 
Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp 
Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth, 
And Truth's eternal day -light shines around ; 
What palm belongs to man's imperial front, 
And woman powerful with becoming smiles, 
Chief of terrestrial natures ; need we now 
Strive to inculcate ? Tims hath Beauty there 
Her most conspicuous praise to matter lent, 
Where most conspicuous through that shadowy veil 
Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind : 
By steps directing our enraptur'd search 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGttNATIoir. 75 

To Him tlie first of minds ; the chief; the sole ; 

From whom, through this wide, complicated world, 

Did all her various lineaments begin ; 

To whom alone, consenting and entire, 

At once their mutual influence all display. 

He, God most high (bear witness Earth and Heaven) 

The living fountains in himself contains 

Of beauteous and sublime : with him enthron'd, 

Ere days or years trod their ethereal way, 

In his supreme intelligence enthron'd, 

The queen of love holds her unclouded state, 

Urania. Thee, O Eather ! this extent 

Of matter ; thee the sluggish earth and tract 

Of seas, the heavens, and heavenly splendours feel 

Pervading, quickening, moving. From the depth 

Of thy great essence, forth didst thou conduct 

Eternal form ; and there, where Chaos reign'd, 

Gav'st her dominion to erect her seat, 

And sanctify the mansion. All her works 

Well-pleas 'd thou didst behold : the gloomy fires 

Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light 

Of summer ; soft Campania's new-born rose, 

And the slow weed which pines on Russian hills, 

Comely alike to thy full vision stand : 

To thy surrounding vision, which unites 

All essences and powers of the great world 

In one sole order, fair alike they stand, 

As features well consenting, and alike 

Hequir'd by Nature, ere she could attain 

Her just resemblance to the perfect shape 

Of universal Beauty, which with thee 

Dwelt from the first. Thou also, ancient Mind, 

Whom love and free beneficence await 

In all thy doings ; to inferior minds, 

Thy offspring, and to man, thy youngest son, 

Hefusing no convenient gift nor good ; 

Their eyes did'st open in this earth, yon heaven, 

Those starry worlds, the countenance divine 

Of Beauty to behold. But not to them 

Didst thou her awful magnitude reveal, 

Such as before thine own unbounded sight 

She stands ; (for never shall created soul 

Conceive that object) nor, to all their kinds, 

The same in shape or features didst thou frame 

Her image. Measuring well their different spheres 

Of sense and action, thy paternal hand 



76 AXE^SIDE. 

Hatli for eacli race prepar'd a different test 

Of Beauty, own'd and reverenc'd as their guide 

Most apt, most faithful. Thence inform'd, they scan 

The objects that surround them ; and select, 

Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view, 

Each for himself selects, peculiar parts, 

Of Mature ; what the standard fix'd by Heaven 

Within his breast approves : acquiring thus 

A partial Beauty, which becomes his lot ; 

A Beauty which his eye may comprehend, 

His hand may copy : leaving, O Supreme, 

O thou whom none have utter'd, leaving all 

To thee that infinite, consummate form, 

Which the great powers, the gods around thy throne 

And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee 

For ever to have been ; but who she is, 

Or what her likeness, know not. Man surveys 

A narrower scene, where, by the mix'd effect 

Of things corporeal on his passive mind, 

He judgeth what is fair. Corporeal things 

The mind of man impel with various powers, 

And various features to his eye disclose. 

The powers which move his sense with instant joy, 

The features which attract his heart to love, 

He marks, combines, reposits. Other powers 

And features of the self-same thing (unless 

The beauteous form, the creature of his mind, 

Request their close alliance) he o'erlooks 

Forgotten ; or with self-beguiling zeal, 

Whene'er his passions mingle in the work, 

Half alters, half disowns. The tribes of men, 

Thus from their different functions and the shapes 

Familiar to their eye, with art obtain, 

Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art 

Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love : 

Whose proud desires from Nature's homely toil 

Oft turn away, fastidious : asking still 

His mind's high aid, to purify the form 

From matter's gross communion ; to secure 

For ever from the meddling hand of Change, 

Or rude Decay, her features ; and to add 

Whatever ornaments may suit her mien, 

Where'er he finds them scatter'd through the paths 

Of Nature or of Fortune. Then he seats 

The accomplish' d image deep within his breast, 

[Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair. 



THE PLEASTTKES OE IMAGINATION. 7, 

Thus the one Beauty of the world entire. 
The universal Yenus far beyond 
The keenest efforts of created eyes, 
And their most wide horizon, dwells enthron'd 
In ancient silence. At her footstool stands 
An altar burning with eternal fire 
Unsullied, unconsuni'd. Here every hour, 
Here every moment, in their turns arrive 
Her offspring ; an innumerable band 
Of sisters, comely all ! but differing far 
In age, in stature, and expressive mien, 
3Iore than bright Helen from her new born babe. 
To this maternal shrine in turns they come, 
Each with her sacred lamp ; that from the source 
Of living flame, which here immortal flows, 
Their portions of its lustre they may draw 
For days, or months, or years ; for ages, some ; 
As their great parent's discipline requires. 
Then to their several mansions they depart, 
In stars, in planets, through the unknown shores 
Of yon ethereal ocean. Who can tell, 
Even on the surface of this rolling earth, 
How many make abode ? The fields, the groves, 
The winding rivers and the azure main, 
Are render'd solemn by their frequent feet. 
Their rites sublime, there each her destin'd home 
Informs with that pure radiance from the skies 
Brought down, and shines throughout her little 

sphere, 
Exulting. Straight, as travellers by night, 
Turn toward a distant flame, so some fit eye, 
Among the various tenants of the scene, 
Discerns the heaven-born phantom seated there, 
And owns her charms. Hence the wide universe, 
Through all the seasons of revolving worlds, 
Bears witness with its people, gods, and men, 
To Beauty's blissful power, and with the voice 
Of grateful admiration still resounds : 
That voice, to which is Beauty's frame divine, 
As is the cunning of the master's hand 
To the sweet accent of the well-tun'd lyre. 

Genius of ancient Greece, whose faithful steps 
Have led us to these awful solitudes 
Of Xature and of Science ; nurse rever'd 
Of generous counsels and heroic deeds ; 
O ! let some portion of thy matchless praise 



78 AKEXSIDE. 

Dwell in my breast, and teach, me to adorn 

This unatt erupted theme. JN"or be my thoughts 

Presumptuous counted, if amid the calm 

Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven, 

If I, from vulgar Superstition's walk, 

Impatient steal, and from the unseemly rites 

Of splendid Adulation, to attend 

With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade, 

By their malignant footsteps unprofan'd. 

Come, O renowned power ; thy glowing mien 

Such, and so elevated all thy form, 

As when the great barbaric lord, again 

And yet again diminish' d, hid his face 

Among the herd of satraps and of kings ; 

And, at the lightning of thy lifted spear, 

Crouch' d like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils, 

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs, 

Thy smiling band of Arts, thy godlike sires 

Of civil wisdom, thy unconquer'd youth 

After some glorious day rejoicing round 

Their new-erected trophy. Guide my feet 

Through fair Lyceum's walk, the olive shades 

Of Academus, and the sacred vale 

Haunted by steps divine, where once beneath 

That ever living platane's ample boughs 

Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detain'd, 

On his neglected urn attentive lay ; 

While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep 

With beauteous Orithjia, his love tale 

In silent awe suspended. There let me 

With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields, 

Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn 

My native clime ; while, far beyond the meed 

Of Fancy's toil aspiring, I unlock 

The springs of ancient wisdom ; while I add 

(What cannot be disjoin'd from Beauty's praise) 

Thy name and native dress, thy works belov'd 

And honour' d : while to my compatriot youth 

I point the great example of thy sons, 

And tune to Attic themes the British lyre. 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. 79 

BOOK II. 1765. 

ARGUMENT. 

Introduction to this more difficult part of the subject — Of Truth 
and its three classes, matter of fact, experimental or scientifical 
truth, (contradistinguished from opinion,) and universal truth ; 
which last is either metaphysical or geometrical, either purely 
intellectual or perfectly abstracted — On the power of discerning 
truth depends that of acting with the view of an end ; a circum- 
stance essential to virtue — Of Virtue, considered in the divine 
mind as a perpetual and universal beneficence — Of human virtue, 
considered as a system of particular sentiments and actions, 
suitable to the design of Providence and the condition of man ; 
to whom it constitutes the chief good and the first beauty — Of 
Vice and its origin — Of Ridicule : its general nature and final 
cause — Of the Passions ; particularly of those which relate to 
evil natural or moral, and which are generally accounted painful, 
though not always unattended with pleasure. 

Thus far of Beauty and the pleasing forms 
Which man's untutor'd fancy, from the scenes 
Imperfect of this ever changing world, 
Creates; and views, enaniour'd. Now my song 
Severer themes demand : mysterious Truth ; 
And Virtue, sovran good : the spells, the trains, 
The progeny of Error ; the dread sway 
Of Passion ; and whatever hidden stores 
Prom her own lofty deeds and from herself 
The mind acquires. Severer argument : 
Not less attractive ; nor deserving less 
A constant ear. For what are all the forms 
Educ'd by fancy from corporeal things, 
Greatness, or pomp, or symmetry of parts ? 
Not tending to the heart, soon feeble grows, 
As the blunt arrow 'gainst the knotty trunk, 
Their impulse on the sense : while the pall'd eye 
Expects in vain its tribute ; asks in vain, 
Where are the ornaments it once admir'd ? 
Not so the moral species, nor the powers 
Of Passion and of Thought. The ambitious mind 
With objects boundless as her own desires 
Can there converse : by these unfading forms 
Touch' d and awaken'd still, with eager act 
She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleas'd 



80 AKENSIDE. 

Her gifts, her godlike fortune. Such the scenes 
Now opening round us. May the destin'd verse 
Maintain its equal tenor, though in tracts ^ 
Obscure and arduous ! May the source of light, 
All-present, alhsufficient, guide our steps 
Through every maze : and whom in childish years 
From the loud throng, the beaten paths of wealth 
And power, thou didst apart send forth to speak 
In tuneful words concerning highest things, 
Him still do thou, O Father, at those hours 
Of pensive freedom, when the human soul 
Shuts out the rumour of the world, him still 
Touch thou with secret lessons : call thou back 
Each erring thought ; and let the yielding strains 
From his full bosom, like a welcome rill 
Spontaneous from its healthy fountain, flow ! 
But from what name, what favourable sign, 
What heavenly auspice, rather shall I date 
My perilous excursion, than from Truth, 
That nearest inmate of the human soul ; 
E Strang 'd from whom, the countenance divine 
Of man disfigur'd and dishonour'd sinks 
Among inferior things ? For to the brutes 
Perception and the transient boons of sense 
Hath Fate imparted : but to man alone 
Of sublunary beings was it given 
Each fleeting impulse on the sensual powers 
At leisure to review ; with equal eye 
To scan the passion of the stricken nerve, 
Or the vague object striking ; to conduct 
From sense, the portal turbulent and loud, 
Into the mind's wide palace one by one 
The frequent, pressing, fluctuating forms, 
And question and compare them. Thus he learns 
Their birth and fortunes ; how allied they haunt 
The avenues of sense ; what laws direct 
Their union ; and what various discords rise, 
Or fix'd or casual : which when his clear thought 
[Retains, and when his faithful words express, 
That living image of the external scene, 
As in a polish'd mirror held to view, 
Is Truth : where'er it varies from the shape 
And hue of its exemplar, in that part 
Dim Error lurks. Moreover, from without, 
When oft the same society of forms 
In the same order have approach'd his mind, 



THE PLEASTTKES OE IMAGINATION'. 81 

He deigns no more their steps with curious heed 

To trace ; no more their features or their garb 

He now examines ; but of them and their 

Condition, as with some diviner's tongue, 

Affirms what Heaven in every distant place, 

Through every future season, will decree. 

This too is Truth : where'er his prudent lips 

Wait till experience diligent and slow 

Has authoriz'd their sentence, this is Truth ; 

A second, higher kind : the parent this 

Of Science ; or the lofty power herself, 

Science herself: on whom the wants and cares 

Of social life depend ; the substitute 

Of G-od's own wisdom in this toilsome world ; 

The providence of man. Yet oft in vain, 

To earn her aid, with fix'd and anxious eye 

He looks on Nature's and on Fortune's course : 

Too much in vain. His duller visual ray 

The stillness and the persevering acts 

Of Nature oft elude ; and Fortune oft 

With step fantastic from her wonted walk 

Turns into mazes dim : his sight is foil'd ; 

And the crude sentence of his faltering tongue 

Is but opinion's verdict, half believed 

And prone to change. Here thou, who feel'st thine ear 

Congenial to my lyre's profounder tone, 

Pause, and be watchful. Hitherto the stores, 

Which feed thy mind and exercise her powers, 

Partake the relish of their native soil, 

Their parent earth. But know, a nobler dower 

Her Sire at birth decreed her ; purer gifts 

From his own treasure ; forms which never deign'd 

In eyes or ears to dwell, within the sense 

Of earthly organs ; but sublime were plac'd 

In his essential reason, leading there 

That vast ideal host which all his works 

Through endless ages never will reveal. 

Thus then endow'd, the feeble creature man, 

The slave of hunger and the prey of death, 

Even now, even here, in earth's dim prison bound, 

The language of intelligence divine 

Attains ; repeating oft concerning one 

And many, past and present, parts and whole, 

Those sovereign dictates which in farthest heaven, 

Where no orb rolls, Eternity's fix'd ear 

Hears from coeval Truth, when Chance nor Change, 

G 



82 AKEXSIDE. 

Nature's loud progeny, nor Nature's self 

Dares intermeddle or approach her throne. 

Ere long, o'er this corporeal world he learns 

To extend her sway ; while calling from the deep, 

From earth and air, their multitudes untold 

Of figures and of motions round his walk, 

Eor each wide family some single birth 

He sets in view, the impartial type of all 

Its brethren ; suffering it to claim, beyond 

Their common heritage, no private gift, 

No proper fortune. Then whate'er his eye 

In this discerns, his bold unerring tongue 

Pronounceth of the kindred, without bound, 

Without condition. Such the rise of forms 

Sequester'd far from sense and every spot 

Peculiar in the realms of space or time : 

Such is the throne which man for Truth amid 

The paths of mutability hath built 

Secure, unshaken, still ; and whence he views, 

In matter's mouldering structures, the pure forms 

Of triangle or circle, cube or cone, 

Impressive all ; whose attributes nor force 

Nor fate can alter. There he first conceives 

True being, and an intellectual world 

The same this hour and ever. Thence he deems 

Of his own lot ; above the painted shapes 

That fleeting move o'er this terrestrial scene 

Looks up ; beyond the adamantine gates 

Of death expatiates ; as his birthright claims 

Inheritance in all the works of God ; 

Prepares for endless time his plan of life, 

And counts the universe itself his home. 

Whence also but from Truth, the light of minds, 
Is human fortune gladden'd with the rays 
Of Virtue ? with the moral colours thrown 
On every walk of this our social scene, 
Adorning for the eye of gods and men 
The passions, actions, habitudes of life, 
And rendering earth, like heaven, a sacred place 
Where Love and Praise may take delight to dwell ? 
Let none with heedless tongue from Truth disjoin 
The reign of Virtue. Ere the day spring flow'd, 
Like sisters link'd in Concord's golden chain, 
They stood before the great Eternal Mind, 
Their common parent ; and by him were both 
Sent forth among his creatures, hand in hand, 



THE PLEASURES OP IMAailS-ATIOtf. 83 

Inseparably join'd : nor e'er did Truth 

Find an apt ear to listen to her lore, 

Which knew not Virtue's voice; nor, save where 

Truth's 
Majestic words are heard and understood, 
Doth Virtue deign to inhabit. Go, inquire 
Of Nature : not among Tartarian rocks, 
Whither the hungry vulture with its prey 
Returns : not where the lion's sullen roar 
At noon resounds along the lonely banks 
Of ancient Tigris : but her gentler scenes, 
The dovecote and the shepherd's fold at morn, 
Consult ; or by the meadow's fragrant hedge, 
In spring-time when the woodlands first are green, 
Attend the linnet singing to his mate 
Couch'd o'er their tender young. To this fond care 
Thou dost not Virtue's honourable name 
Attribute ; wherefore, save that not one gleam 
Of Truth did e'er discover to themselves 
Their little hearts, or teach them, by the effects 
Of that parental love, the love itself 
To judge, and measure its officious deeds ? 
But man, whose eyelids Truth has fill'd with day, 
Discerns how skilfully to bounteous ends 
His wise affections move : with free accord 
Adopts their guidance ; yields himself secure 
To Nature's prudent impulse ; and converts 
Instinct to duty and to sacred law. 
Hence Eight and Fit on earth : while thus to man 
The Almighty Legislator hath explain 'd 
The springs of action fix'd within his breast ; 
Hath given him power to slacken or restrain 
Their effort ; and hath shown him how they join 
Their partial movements with the master- wheel 
Of the great world, and serve that sacred end 
Which he, the unerring reason, keeps in view. 

For (if a mortal tongue may speak of him 
And his dread ways) even as his boundless eye, 
Connecting every form and every change, 
Beholds the perfect Beauty; so his will, 
Through every hour producing good to all 
The family of creatures, is itself 
The perfect Virtue. Let the grateful swain 
Remember this, as oft with joy and praise 
He looks upon the falling dews which clothe 
His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed 
g 2 



84 AKENSIDE. 

Nourish within his furrows : when between 

Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmov'd 

The bark had languished, now a rustling gale 

Lifts o'er the fickle waves her dancing prow, 

Let the glad pilot, bursting out in thanks, 

Remember this : lest blind o'erweening pride 

Pollute their offerings : lest their selfish heart 

Say to the heavenly ruler, " At our call 

Relents thy power : by us thy arm is mov'd." 

Pools ! who of God as of each other deem : 

Who his invariable acts deduce 

From sudden counsels transient as their own ; 

Nor farther of his bounty, than the event 

Which haply meets their loud and eager prayer, 

Acknowledge ; nor, beyond the drop minute 

Which haply they have tasted, heed the source 

That flows for all ; the fountain of his love, 

Which, from the summit where he sits enthron'd, 

Pours health and joy, unfailing streams, throughout 

The spacious region flourishing in view, 

The goodly work of his eternal day, 

His own fair universe ; on which alone 

His counsels fix, and whence alone his will 

Assumes her strong direction. Such is now 

His sovereign purpose : such it was before 

All multitude of years. For his right arm 

Was never idle : his bestowing love 

Knew no beginning ; was not as a change 

Of mood that woke at last, and started up 

After a deep and solitary sloth 

Of boundless ages. No : he now is good, 

He ever was. The feet of hoary Time 

Through their eternal course have travell'd o'er 

No speechless, lifeless desert ; but through scenes 

Cheerful with bounty still ; among a pomp 

Of worlds, for gladness round the Maker's throne 

Loud-shouting, or, in many dialects 

Of hope and filial trust, imploring thence 

The fortunes of their people : where so fix'd 

Were all the dates of being, so dispos'd 

To every living soul of every kind 

The field of motion and the hour of rest, 

That each the general happiness might serve ; 

And, by the discipline of laws divine 

Convinc'd of folly or chastis'd from guilt, 

Each might at length be happy. "What remains 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION 85 

Shall be like what is pass'd ; but fairer still, 

And still increasing in the godlike gifts 

Of Life and Truth. The same paternal hand, 

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, 

To men, to angels, to celestial minds, 

Will ever lead the generations on 

Through higher scenes of being : while, supplied 

[From day to day by his enlivening breath, 

Inferior orders in succession rise 

To fill the void below. As name ascends, 

As vapours to the earth in showers return, 

As the pois'd ocean toward the attracting moon 

Swells, and the ever-listening planets charm' d 

By the sun's call their onward pace incline, 

So all things which have life aspire to Grod, 

Exhaustless fount of intellectual day ! 

Centre of souls ! Nor doth the mastering voice 

Of Nature cease within to prompt aright 

Their steps ; nor is the care of Heaven withheld 

From sending to the toil external aid ; 

That in their stations all may persevere 

To climb the ascent of being, and approach 

For ever nearer to the Life divine. 

But this eternal fabric was not rais'd 
For man's inspection. Though to some be given 
To catch a transient visionary glimpse 
Of that majestic scene which boundless power 
Prepares for perfect goodness, yet in vain 
Would human life her faculties expand 
To embosom such an object. Nor could e'er 
Virtue or praise have touch' d the hearts of men, 
Had not the Sovereign Guide, through every stage 
Of this their various journey, pointed out 
New hopes, new toils, which to their humbler sphere 
Of sight and strength might such importance hold 
As doth the wide creation to his own. 
Hence all the little charities of life, 
With all their duties : hence that favourite palm 
Of human will, when duty is suffic'd, 
And still the liberal soul in ampler deeds 
Would manifest herself; that sacred sign 
Of her rever'd affinity to Him 
Whose bounties are his own ; to whom none said, 
" Create the wisest, fullest, fairest world, 
And make its offspring happy;" who, intent 
Some likeness of Himself among his works 



86 AKEFSIDE. 

To view, hath pour'd into the human breast 

A ray of knowledge and of love, which guides 

Earth's feeble race to act their Maker's part, 

Self-judging, self-oblig'd : while, from before 

That god-like function, the gigantic power 

ISTecessity, though wont to curb the force 

Of Chaos and the savage elements, 

Retires abash'd, as from a scene too high 

For her brute tyranny, and with her bears 

Her scorned followers, Terror, and base Awe 

Who blinds herself, and that ill-suited pair, 

Obedience link'd with Hatred. Then the soul 

Arises in her strength ; and, looking round 

Her busy sphere, whatever work she views, 

Whatever counsel bearing any trace 

Of her Creator's likeness, whether apt 

To aid her fellows or preserve herself 

In her superior functions unimpair'd, 

Thither she turns exulting : that she claims 

As her peculiar good : on that, through all 

The fickle seasons of the day, she looks 

With reverence still : to that, as to a fence 

Against affliction and the darts of pain, 

Her drooping hopes repair : and, once oppos'd 

To that, all other pleasure, other wealth, 

Vile, as the dross upon the molten gold, 

Appears, and loathsome as the briny sea 

To him who languishes with thirst and sighs 

For some known fountain pure. For what can strive 

With Virtue ? Which of Nature's regions vast 

Can in so many forms produce to sight 

Such powerful Beauty P Beauty, which the eye 

Of Hatred cannot look upon secure : 

Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turn'd 

Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles, 

Or tears of humblest love. Is aught so fair 

In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring, 

The Summer's noontide groves, the purple eve 

At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon 

Glittering on some smooth sea; is aught so fair 

As virtuous friendship ? as the honour'd roof 

Whither from highest heaven immortal Love 

His torch ethereal and his golden bow 

Propitious brings, and there a temple holds 

To whose unspotted service gladly vow'd 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. b 

The social band of parent, brother, child, 

"With smiles and sweet discourse and gentle deeds 

Adore his power ? What gift of richest clime 

E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such 

Deep wishes, as the zeal that snatcheth back 

From Slander's poisonous tooth a foe's renown ; 

Or crosseth danger in his lion walk, 

A rival's life to rescue ? as the young 

Athenian warrior sitting down in bonds, 

That his great father's body might not want 

A peaceful, humble tomb ? the Roman wife 

Teaching her lord how harmless was the wound 

Of death, how impotent the tyrant's rage, 

Who nothing more could threaten to afflict 

Their faithful love ? Or is there in the abyss, 

Is there, among the adamantine spheres 

Wheeling unshaken through the boundless void, 

Aught that with half such majesty can fill 

The human bosom, as when Brutus rose 

Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate 

Amid the crowd of patriots ; and, his arm 

Aloft extending like eternal Jove 

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 

On Tully's name, and shook the crimson sword 

Of justice in his rapt astonish'd eye, 

And bade the father of his country hail, 

For lo, the tyrant prostrate on the dust, 

And Eome again is free ? Thus, through the paths 

Of human life, in various pomp array 'd 

Walks the wise daughter of the judge of Heaven, 

Fair Virtue ; from her Father's throne supreme 

Sent down to utter laws, such as on earth 

Most apt he knew, most powerful to promote 

The weal of all his works, the gracious end 

Of his dread empire. And though haply man's 

Obscurer sight, so far beyond himself 

And the brief labours of his little home, 

Extends not ; yet, by the bright presence won 

Of this divine instructress, to her sway 

Pleas'd he assents, nor heeds the distant goal 

To which her voice conducts him. Thus hath G-od, 

Still looking toward his own high purpose, fix'd 

The virtues of his creatures ; thus he rules 

The parent's fondness and the patriot's zeal ; 

Thus the warm sense of honour and of shame ; 



88 AKENSTDE. 

The vows of gratitude, the faith of love ; 
And all the comely intercourse of praise, 
The joy of human life, the earthly heaven ! 

How far unlike them must the lot of guilt 
Be found ? Or what terrestrial woe can match 
The self-convicted bosom, which hath wrought 
The bane of others or enslaved itself 
With shackles vile ? Not poison, nor sharp fire, 
JSTor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate 
Suggested, or despotic rage impos'd, 
Were at that season an unwish'd exchange : 
When the soul loathes herself: when, flying thence 
To crowds, on every brow she sees portray 'd 
Fell demons, Hate or Scorn, which drive her back 
To solitude, her judge's voice divine 
To hear in secret, haply sounding through 
The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still 
Demanding for his violated laws 
Fit recompense, or charging her own tongue 
To speak the award of justice on herself. 
For well she knows what faithful hints within 
Were whisper'd, to beware the lying forms 
Which turn'd her footsteps from the safer way, 
What cautions to suspect their painted dress, 
And look with steady eyelid on their smiles, 
Their frowns, their tears. In vain : the dazzling hues 
Of Fancy, and Opinion's eager voice, 
Too much prevail'd. For mortals tread the path 
In which Opinion says they follow good 
Or fly from evil : and Opinion gives 
[Report of good or evil, as the scene 
Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deform'd : 
Thus her report can never there be true 
Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye 
With glaring colours and distorted lines. 
Is there a man to whom the name of death 
Brings terror's ghastly pageants conjur'd up 
Before him, death-bed groans, and dismal vows, 
And the frail soul plung'd headlong from the brink 
Of life and daylight down the gloomy air, 
An unknown depth, to gulfs of torturing fire 
Unvisited by mercy ? Then what hand 
Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils 
Which Fancy and Opinion thus conspire 
To twine around his heart ? Or who shall hush 
Their clamour, when they tell him that to die, 



THE PLEASTTBES OF MAQIXATIO^. 89 

To risk those horrors, is a direr curse 

Than basest life can bring ? Though Love with prayers 

Most tender, with affliction's sacred tears, 

Beseech his aid ; though Gratitude and Faith 

Condemn each step which loiters ; yet let none 

Make answer for him that if any frown 

Of Danger thwart his path, he will not stay 

Content, and be a wretch to be secure. 

Here Yice begins then : at the gate of life 

Ere the young multitude to diverse roads 

Part, like fond pilgrims on a journey unknown, 

Sits Fancy, deep enchantress ; and to each 

With kind maternal looks presents her bowl, 

A potent beverage. Heedless they comply : 

Till the whole soul from that mysterious draught 

Is ting'd, and every transient thought imbibes 

Of gladness or disgust, desire or fear, 

One homebred colour : which not all the lights 

Of Science e'er shall change ; not all the storms 

Of adverse Fortune wash away, nor yet 

The robe of purest Virtue quite conceal. 

Thence on they pass, where meeting frequent shapes 

Of good and evil, cunning phantoms apt 

To fire or freeze the breast, with them they join 

In dangerous parley; listening oft, and oft 

Gazing with reckless passion, while its garb 

The spectre heightens, and its pompous tale 

Repeats with some new circumstance to suit 

That early tincture of the hearer's soul. 

And should the guardian, Reason, but for one 

Short moment yield to this illusive scene 

His ear and eye, the intoxicating charm 

Involves him, till no longer he discerns, 

Or only guides to err. Then revel forth 

A furious band that spurn him from the throne, 

And all is uproar. Hence Ambition climbs 

With sliding feet and hands impure, to grasp 

Those solemn toys which glitter in his view 

On Fortune's rugged steep : hence pale Revenge 

Unsheaths her murderous dagger : Rapine hence 

And envious Lust, by venal fraud upborne, 

Surmount the reverend barrier of the laws 

Which kept them from their prey : hence all the 

crimes 
That e'er defil'd the earth, and all the plagues 
That follow them for vengeance, in the guise 



90 AKENSIDE. 

Of Honour, Safety, Pleasure, Ease, or Pomp, 
Stole first into the fond believing mind. 

Yet not by Fancy's witchcraft on the brain 
Are always the tumultuous passions driven 
To guilty deeds, nor Reason bound in chains 
That Vice alone may lord it. Oft adorn'd 
With motley pageants, Folly mounts his throne, 
And plays her idiot antics, like a queen. 
A thousand garbs she wears : a thousand ways 
She whirls her giddy empire. Lo, thus far 
With bold adventure to the Mantuan lyre 
I sing for contemplation link'd with love 
A pensive theme. Now haply should my song 
Unbend that serious countenance, and learn 
Thalia's tripping gait, her shrill- ton'd voice, 
Her wiles familiar : whether scorn she darts 
In wanton ambush from her lip or eye, 
Or whether with a sad disguise of care 
O'ermantling her gay brow, she acts in sport 
The deeds of Folly, and from all sides round 
Calls forth impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke ; 
Her province. But through every comic scene 
To lead my Muse with her light pencil arm'd ; 
Through every swift occasion which the hand 
Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting 
Distends her labouring sides and chokes her tongue : 
Were endless as to sound each grating note 
With which the rooks, and chattering daws, and 

grave 
Unwieldy inmates of the village pond, 
The changing seasons of the sky proclaim ; 
Sun, cloud, or shower. Suffice it to have said, 
Where'er the power of Ridicule displays 
Her quaint- ey'd visage, some incongruous form, 
Some stubborn dissonance of things combin'd, 
Strikes on her quick perception : whether Pomp, 
Or Praise, or Beauty be dragg'd in and shown 
Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds, 
Where foul Deformity is wont to dwell ; 
Or whether these with shrewd and wayward spite 
Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien, 
The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise. 

Ask we for what fair end the Almighty Sire 
In mortal bosoms stirs this gay contempt, 
These grateful pangs of laughter ; from disgust 
Educing pleasure ? Wherefore, but to aid 



THE PLEASURES OE IMAGINATION. 91 

The tardy steps of Reason, and at once 
By this prompt impulse urge us to depress 
Wild Folly's aims ? For though the sober light 
Of Truth's slow dawning on the watchful mind 
At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie, 
How these uncouth disorders end at last 
In public evil ; yet benignant Heaven, 
Conscious how dim the dawn of Truth appears 
To thousands, conscious what a scanty pause 
From labour and from care the wider lot 
Of humble life affords for studious thought 
To scan the maze of Nature, therefore stamp'd 
These glaring scenes with characters of scorn, 
As broad, as obvious to the passing clown 
As to the letter'd sage's curious eye. 

But other evils o'er the steps of man 
Through all his walks impend ; against whose might 
The slender darts of Laughter nought avail : 
A trivial warfare. Some, like cruel guards, 
On Nature's ever moving throne attend ; 
With mischief arm'd for him whoe'er shall thwart 
The path of her inexorable wheels, 
While she pursues the work that must be done 
Through ocean, earth, and air. Hence, frequent forms 
Of woe ; the merchant, with his wealthy bark, 
Buried by dashing waves ; the traveller 
Pierc'd by the pointed lightning in his haste ; 
And the poor husbandman, with folded arms, 
Surveying his lost labours, and a heap 
Of blasted chaff, the product of the field 
Whence he expected bread. But worse than these 
I deem, far worse, that other race of ills 
Which human kind rear up among themselves ; 
That horrid offspring which misgovern' d Will 
Bears to fantastic Error ; vices, crimes, 
Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows, 
The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand 
Seem sport : which are indeed but as the care 
Of a wise parent, who solicits good 
To all her house, though haply at the price 
Of tears and froward wailing and reproach 
From some unthinking child, whom not the less 
Its mother destines to be happy still. 

These sources then of pain, this double lot 
Of evil in the inheritance of man, 
Eequir'd for his protection no slight force, 



92 AKE^SIDE. 

No careless watch ; and therefore was his breast 

Fenc'd round with passions quick to be alarm'd, 

Or stubborn to oppose ; with Fear, more swift 

Than beacons catching flame from hill to hill, 

Where Armies land ; with Anger, uncontroll'd 

As the young lion bounding on his prey ; 

With Sorrow, that locks up the struggling heart, 

And Shame, that overcasts the brooding eye 

As with a cloud of lightning. These the part 

Perform of eager monitors, and goad 

The soul more sharply than with points of steel, 

Her enemies to shun or to resist. 

And as those passions, that converse with good, 

Are good themselves ; as Hope and Love and Joy, 

Among the fairest and the sweetest boons 

Of life, we rightly count : so these, which guard 

Against invading evil, still excite 

Some pain, some tumult : these, within the mind 

Too oft admitted or too long retain'd, 

Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurb' d rage 

To savages more fell than Libya breeds 

Transform themselves : till human thought becomes 

A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless'd, 

Of self-tormenting fiends ; Horror, Despair, 

Hatred, and wicked Envy : foes to all 

The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven. 

But when through blameless paths to righteous ends 
Those keener passions urge the awaken'd soul, 
I would not, as ungracious violence, 
Their sway describe, nor from their free career 
The fellowship of Pleasure quite exclude. 
For what can render, to the self-approv'd, 
Their temper void of comfort, though in pain ? 
Who knows not with what majesty divine 
The forms of Truth and Justice to the mind 
Appear, ennobling oft the sharpest woe 
With triumph and rejoicing ? Who, that bears 
A human bosom, hath not often felt 
How dear are all those ties which bind our race 
In gentleness together, and how sweet 
Their force, let Fortune's wayward hand the while 
Be kind or cruel ? Ask the faithful youth 
Why the cold urn, of her whom long he lov'd, 
So often fills his arms ; so often draws 
His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen, 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 



THE PLEASUEES OE TMAGUTATIOlS - . i 

Oh ! lie will tell tliee that the wealth of worlds 

Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 

Those sacred hours when, stealing from the noise 

Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes 

"With Virtue's kindest looks his aching breast, 

And turns his tears to rapture ? Ask the crowd, 

Which flies impatient from the village walk 

To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below 

The savage winds have hurl'd upon the coast 

Some helpless bark ; while holy Pity melts 

The general eye, or Terror's icy hand 

Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair ; 

WTiile every mother closer to her breast 

(Jatcheth her child, and, pointing where the waves 

Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud 

As one poor wretch, who spreads his piteous arms 

For succour, swailow'd by the roaring surge, 

As now another, dash'd against the rock, 

Drops lifeless down. O ! deemest thou indeed 

JNo pleasing influence here by Mature given 

To mutual terror and compassion's tears ? 

No tender charm mysterious, which attracts 

O'er all that edge of pain the social powers 

To this their proper action and their end ? 

Ask thy own heart ; when, at the midnight hour, 

Slow through that pensive gloom thy pausing eye, 

Led by the glimmering taper, moves around 

The reverend volumes of the dead, the songs 

Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame 

For Grecian heroes, where the Sovran Power 

Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page 

Even as a father meditating all 

The praises of his son, and bids the rest 

Of mankind there the fairest model learn 

Of their own nature, and the noblest deeds 

Which yet the world hath seen. If then thy soul 

Join in the lot of those diviner men ; 

Say, when the prospect darkens on thy view ; 

W T hen, sunk by many a wound, heroic states 

Mourn in the dust and tremble at the frown 

Of hard Ambition ; when the generous band 

Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires 

Lie side by side in death ; when brutal Force 

Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp 

Of guardian power, the majesty of rule, 

The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe, 



94 AXES-SIDE. 

To poor dishonest pageants, to adorn 

A robber's walk, and glitter in the eyes 

Of such as bow the knee ; when beauteous works, 

Eewards of virtue, sculptur'd forms which deck'd 

"With more than human grace the warrior's arch, 

Or patriot's tomb, now victims to appease 

Tyrannic envy, strew the common path 

With awful ruins ; when the Muse's haunt, 

The marble porch where W r isdom wont to talk 

W r ith Socrates or Tully, hears no more 

Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks, 

Or female Superstition's midnight prayer ; 

W r hen ruthless Havoc from the hand of Time 

Tears the destroying scythe, with surer stroke 

To mow the monuments of Glory down ; 

Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street 

Expands her raven wings, and, from the gate, 

Where senates once the weal of nations plann'd, 

Hisseth the gliding snake through hoary weeds, 

That clasp the mouldering column : thus when all 

The widely -mournful scene is fix'd within 

Thy throbbing bosom : when the patriot's tear 

Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm 

In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove 

To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow, 

Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ; 

Say, doth thy secret soul repine to taste 

The big distress ? or wouldst thou then exchange 

Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot 

Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd 

Of silent flatterers bending to his nod, 

And o'er them, like a giant, casts his eye, 

And says within himself, "lama King, 

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe 

Intrude upon mine ear ?" The dregs corrupt 

Of barbarous ages, that Circsean draught 

Of servitude and folly, have not yet, 

Bless'd be the Eternal Euler of the world ! 

Yet have not so dishonour'd, so deform'd 

The native judgment of the human soul, 

Nor so effac'd the image of her Sire. 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION, 95 



BOOK III. 1770. 

What tongue then may explain the various fate 

"Which reigns o'er earth ? or who to mortal eyes 

Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth 

Of joy and woe, through which the feet of man 

Are doom'd to wander ? That Eternal Mind 

From passions, wants, and envy far estrang'd, 

Who built the spacious universe, and deck'd 

Each part so richly with whate'er pertains 

To life, to health, to pleasure ; why bade he 

The viper Evil, creeping in, pollute 

The goodly scene, and with insidious rage, 

While the poor inmate looks around and smiles, 

Dart her fell sting with poison to his soul ? 

Hard is the question, and from ancient days 

Hath still oppress'd with care the sage's thought ; 

Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre 

Too sad, too deeply plaintive : nor did e'er 

Those chiefs of human kind, from whom the light 

Of heavenly truth first gleam'd on barbarous lands, 

Forget this dreadful secret when they told 

What wondrous things had to their favour'd eyes 

And ears on cloudy mountain been reveal'd, 

Or in deep cave by nymph or power divine, 

Portentous oft and wild. Yet one I know, 

Could I the speech of lawgivers assume, 

One old and splendid tale I would record 

With which the Muse of Solon in sweet strains 

Adorn' d this theme profound, and render' d all 

Its darkness, all its terrors, bright as noon, 

Or gentle as the golden star of eve. 

Who knows not Solon ? last, and wisest far, 

Of those whom Greece, triumphant in the height 

Of glory, styl'd her fathers ? him whose voice 

Through Athens hush'd the storm of civil wrath ; 

Taught envious Want and cruel Wealth to join 

In friendship ; and, with sweet compulsion tam'd 

Minerva's eager people to his laws, 

Which their own goddess in his breast inspir'd ? 

'Twas now the time when his heroic task 
Seem'd but perform' d m vain : when sooth'd by years 
Of flattering service, the fond multitude 
Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath 
Of great Pisistratus : that chief renown' d, 



96 AKENSIDE. 

Whom Hermes and the Idalian queen had train'd 

Even from his birth to every powerful art 

Of pleasing and persuading : from whose lips 

Elow'd eloquence, which, like the vows of love, 

Could steal away suspicion from the hearts 

Of all who listen'd. Thus from day to day 

He won the general suffrage, and beheld 

Each rival overshadow'd and depress 'd 

Beneath his ampler state : yet oft complain' d, 

As one less kindly treated, who had hop'd 

To merit favour, but submits perforce 

To find another's services preferr'd, 

"Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal. 

Then tales were scatter'd of his envious foes, 

Of snares that watched his fame, of daggers aim'd 

Against his life. At last with trembling limbs, 

His hair diffus'd and wild, his garments loose, 

And stain'd with blood from self-inflicted wounds, 

He burst into the public place, as there, 

There only, were his refuge ; and declar'd 

In broken words, with sighs of deep regret, 

The mortal danger he had scarce repell'd. 

Eir'd with his tragic tale, the indignant crowd 

To guard his steps, forthwith a menial band, 

Array'd beneath his eye for deeds of war, 

Decree. O still too liberal of their trust, 

And oft betray'd by over-grateful love, 

The generous people ! Now behold him fenc'd 

By mercenary weapons, like a king, 

Eorth issuing from the city- gate at eve 

To seek his rural mansion, and with pomp 

Crowding the public road. The swain stops short, 

And sighs : the officious townsmen stand at gaze, 

And shrinking give the sullen pageant room. 

Yet not the less obsequious was his brow ; 

ISTor less profuse of courteous words his tongue, 

Of gracious gifts his hand : the while by stealth, 

Like a small torrent fed with evening showers, 

His train increas'd ; till, at that fatal time 

Just as the public eye, with doubt and shame 

Startled, began to question what it saw, 

Swift as the sound of earthquakes rush'd a voice 

Through Athens, that Pisistratus had fill'd 

The rocky citadel with hostile arms, 

Had barr'd the steep ascent, and sate within 

Amid his hirelings, meditating death 



THE PEEASTJEES OE IHAGIFATIOK. 97 

To all whose stubborn necks his yoke refus'd. 

Where then was Solon ? After ten long years 

Of absence, full of haste from foreign shores 

The sage, the lawgiver had now arriv'd : 

Arriv'd, alas ! to see that Athens, that 

Fair temple rais'd by him and sacred call'd 

To Liberty and Concord, now profan'd 

By savage hate, or sunk into a den 

Of slaves who crouch beneath the master's scourge, 

And deprecate his wrath and court his chains. 

Yet did not the wise patriot's grief impede 

His virtuous will, nor was his heart inclin'd 

One moment with such woman-like distress 

To view the transient storms of civil war, 

As thence to yield his country and her hopes 

To all-devouring bondage. His bright helm, 

Even while the traitor's impious act is told, 

He buckles on his hoary head : he girds 

With mail his stooping breast : the shield, the spear 

He snatcheth ; and with swift indignant strides 

The assembled people seeks : proclaims aloud 

It was no time for counsel : in their spears 

Lay all their prudence now : the tyrant yet 

Was not so firmly seated on his throne, 

But that one shock of their united force 

Would dash him from the summit of his pride 

Headlong and grovelling in the dust. " What else 

Can re-assert the lost Athenian name 

So cheaply to the laughter of the world 

Betray 'd : by guile beneath an infant's faith 

So mock'd and scorn'd ? Away, then : Freedom now 

And Safety dwell not but with Fame in Arms : 

Myself will show you where their mansion lies, 

And through the walks of Danger or of Death 

Conduct you to them." While he spake, through all 

Their crowded ranks his quick sagacious eye 

He darted ; where no cheerful voice was heard 

Of social daring ; no stretch' d arm was seen 

Hastening their common task : but pale mistrust 

Wrinkled each brow: they shook their head, and 

down 
Their slack hands hung: cold sighs and whisper'd 

doubts 
From breath to breath stole round. The sage mean- 
time 
Look'd speechless on, while his big bosom heav'd 

H 



98 ake:n t side. 

Straggling with, sliame and sorrow : till at last 
A tear broke forth ; and, " O immortal shades, 
O Theseus," he exclaim'd, " O Codrus, where, 
Where are ye now ? behold for what ye toil'd 
Through life ! behold for whom ye chose to die.' , 
No more he added ; but with lonely steps 
Weary and slow, his silver beard depress'd, 
And his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground, 
Back to his silent dwelling he repaired. 
There o'er the gate, his armour, as a man 
Whom from the service of the war his chief 
Dismisseth after no inglorious toil, 
He fix'd in general view. One wishful look 
He sent, unconscious, toward the public place 
At parting : then beneath his quiet roof 
Without a word, without a sigh, retir'd. 

Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays 
From sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes 
Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores, 
When, lo, on Solon's threshold met the feet 
Of four Athenians by the same sad care 
Conducted all : than whom the state beheld 
None nobler. First came Megacles, the son 
Of great Alcmeeon, whom the Lydian king, 
The mild, unhappy Croesus, in his days 
Of glory had with costly gifts adorn'd, 
Fair vessels, splendid garments, tinctur'd webs 
And heaps of treasur'd gold, beyond the lot 
Of many sovereigns ; thus requiting well 
That hospitable favour which erewhile 
Alcmseon to his messengers had shown, 
Whom he with offerings worthy of the god 
Sent from his throne in Sardis to revere 
Apollo's Delphic shrine. With Megacles 
Approach'd his son, whom Agarista bore, 
The virtuous child of Clisthenes whose hand 
Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far 
In Sicyon sway'd : but greater fame he drew 
From arms controll'd by justice, from the love 
Of the wise Muses, and the unenvied wreath 
Which glad Olympia gave. For thither once 
His warlike steeds the hero led, and there 
Contended through the tumult of the course 
With skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal, 
Amid the applauses of assembled Greece, 
High on his car he stood and wav'd his arm. 



THE PLEASTJEES OE IMAGINATION. 99 

Silence ensued : wlien straight the herald's voice 

Was heard, inviting every Grecian youth, 

Whom Clisthenes content might call his son, 

To visit, ere twice thirty days were pass'd, 

The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed, 

Within the circuit of the following year, 

To join at Hymen's altar, hand in hand 

With his fair daughter, him among the guests 

Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from 

all 
The bounds of Greece the ambitious wooers came : 
From rich Hesperia ; from the Illyrian shore 
Where Epidamnus over Adrio's surge 
Looks on the setting sun ; from those brave tribes 
Chaonian or Molossian whom the race 
Of great Achilles governs, glorying still 
In Troy o'erthrown ; from rough iEtolia, nurse 
Of men who first among the Greeks threw off 
The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms 
Devoted ; from Thessalia's fertile meads, 
Where flows Peneus near the lofty walls 
Of Cranon old ; from strong Eretria, queen 
Of all Eubcean cities, who, sublime 
On the steep margin of Euripus, views 
Across the tide the Marathonian plain, 
Not yet the haunt of glory. Athens too, 
Minerva's care, among her graceful sons 
Found equal lovers for the princely maid : 
]N"or was proud Argos wanting ; nor the domes 
Of sacred Elis ; nor the Arcadian groves 
That overshade Alpeus, echoing oft 
Some shepherd's song. But through the illustrious 

band 
Was none who might with Megacles compare 
In all the honours of unblemish'd youth. 
His was the beauteous bride : and now their son 
Young Clisthenes, betimes, at Solon's gate 
Stood anxious ; leaning forward on the arm 
Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that ask'd 
When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet, 
And cheeks now pale, now glowing : for his heart 
Throbb'd full of bursting passions, anger, grief 
With scorn imbitter'd, by the generous boy 
Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds, 
Are destin'd for his country and himself 
In riper years to bring forth fruits divine 
H 2 



100 AKENSIDE. 

Of liberty and glory. Next appear'd 

Two brave companions whom one mother bore 

To different lords ; but whom the better ties 

Of firm esteem and friendship render'd more 

Than brothers ; first Miltiades, who drew 

From godlike iEacus his ancient line ; 

That jEacus whose unimpeach'd renown 

For sanctity and justice won the lyre 

Of elder bards to celebrate him thron'd 

In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees 

The guilty soul within the burning gates 

Of Tartarus compel, or send the good 

To inhabit with eternal health and peace 

The valleys of Elysium. From a stem 

So sacred, ne'er could worthier scion spring 

Than this Miltiades ; whose aid ere long 

The chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways 

Sent by the inspir-'d foreknowing maid who sits 

Upon the Delphic tripod, shall implore 

To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth 

Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect 

With arms and laws. But, nothing careful now 

Save for his injur'd country, here he stands 

In deep solicitude with Cimon join'd : 

Unconscious both what widely different lots 

Await them, taught by nature as they are 

To know one common good, one common ill. 

For Cimon, not his valour, not his birth 

Deriv'd from Codrus, not a thousand gifts 

Dealt round him with a wise, benignant hand ; 

]N"o, not the Olympic olive by himself 

From his own brow transferr'd to soothe the mind 

Of this Pisistratus, can long preserve 

From the fell envy of the tyrant's sons, 

And their assassin dagger. But if death 

Obscure upon his gentle steps attend, 

Yet fate an ample recompense prepares 

In his victorious son, that other great 

Miltiades, who o'er the very throne 

Of G-lory shall with Time's assiduous hand 

In adamantine characters engrave 

The name of Athens ; and, by Freedom arm'd 

'Gainst the gigantic pride of Asia's king, 

Shall all the achievements of the heroes old 

Surmount, of Hercules, of all who sail'd 



THE PLEAST7KES OE IMAGO* AlTIOK.' 101 

From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought 
For empire or for fame at Thebes or Troy. 

Such were the patriots who within the porch 
Of Solon had assembled. But the gate 
"Now opens, and across the ample floor 
Straight they proceed into an open space 
Bright with the beams of morn : a verdant spot, 
Where stands a rural altar, pil'd with sods 
Cut from the grassy turf, and girt with wreaths 
Of branching palm. Here Solon's self they found 
Clad in a robe of purple pure, and deck'd 
With leaves of olive on his reverend brow. 
He bow'd before the altar, and o'er cakes 
Of barley from two earthen vessels pour'd 
Of honey and of milk a plenteous stream ; 
Calling meantime the Muses to accept 
His simple offering, by no victim ting'd 
With blood, nor sullied by destroying fire, 
But such as for himself Apollo claims 
In his own Delos, where his favourite haunt 
Is thence the Altar of the Pious nam'd. 
Unseen the guests drew near, and silent view'd 
That worship ; till the hero-priest his eye 
Turn'd toward a seat on which prepar'd there lay 
A branch of laurel. Then his friends confess 'd 
Before him stood. Backward his step he drew, 
As loth that care or tumult should approach 
Those early rites divine : but soon their looks, 
So anxious, and their hands, held forth with such 
Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce 
To speak to their affliction. " Are ye come," 
He cried, " to mourn with me this common shame ? 
Or ask ye some new effort which may break 
Our fetters ? Know then, of the public cause 
"Not for yon traitor's cunning or his might 
Do I despair : nor could I wish from Jove 
Aught dearer, than at this late hour of life, 
As once by laws, so now by strenuous arms, 
From impious violation to assert 
The rights our fathers left us. But, alas! 
What arms ? or who shall wield them ? Ye beheld 
The Athenian people. Many bitter days 
Must pass, and many wounds from cruel pride 
Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room 
For just resentment, or their hands endure 



102 AKE^SIDE. 

To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all 

Their hopes, so oft admir'd, so long belov'd. 

That time will come, however. Ee it yours 

To watch its fair approach, and urge it on 

With honest prudence : me it ill beseems 

Again to supplicate the unwilling crowd 

To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold 

That envied power 3 which once with eager zeal 

They offer'd to myself; nor can I plunge 

In counsels deep and various, nor prepare 

For distant wars, thus faltering as I tread 

On life's last verge, ere long to join the shades 

Of Minos and Lycurgus. But behold 

What care employs me now. My vows I pay 

To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth. 

And solace of my age. If right I deem 

Of the still voice that whispers at my heart, 

The immortal sisters have not quite withdrawn 

Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues 

With sacred silence favour what I speak, 

And haply shall my faithful lips be taught 

To unfold celestial counsels, which may arm 

As with impenetrable steel your breasts 

For the long strife before you, and repel 

The darts of adverse fate." He said, and snatch'd 

The laurel bough, and sate in silence down, 

Fix'd, wrapp'd in solemn musing, full before 

The sun, who now from all his radiant orb 

Drove the gray clouds, and pour'd his genial light 

Upon the breast of Solon. Solon rais'd 

Aloft the leafy rod, and thus began : 

" Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove 
And Memory divine, Pierian maids, 
Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life, 
Wnen hope shone bright and all the prospect smil'd, 
To your sequester'd mansion oft my steps 
Were turn'd, O Muses, and within your gate 
My offerings paid. Ye taught me then with strains 
Of flowing harmony to soften war's 
Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm 
The public eye, to clothe the form austere 
Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age 
Neglected, and supplanted of the hope 
On which it lean'd, yet sinks not, but to you, 
To your mild wisdom flies, refuge belov'd 
Of solitude and silence. Ye can teach 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 103 

The visions of my bed whate'er the gods 

In the rude ages of the world inspir'd, 

Or the first heroes acted : ye can make 

The morning light more gladsome to my sense, 

Than ever it appear'd to active youth 

Pursuing careless pleasure : ye can give 

To this long leisure, these unheeded hours, 

A labour as subhme, as when the sons 

Of Athens throng'd and speechless round me stood 

To hear pronounc'd for all their future deeds 

The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial powers ! 

I feel that ye are near me : and behold, 

To meet your energy divine, I bring 

A high and sacred theme ; not less than those 

Which to the eternal custody of Fame 

Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deign'd 

"With Orpheus or with Homer to frequent 

The groves of Hsemus or the Chian shore. 

" Ye know, harmonious maids, (for what of all 
My various life was e'er from you estrang'd?) 
Oft hath my solitary song to you 
Reveal'd that duteous pride which turned my steps 
To willing exile ; earnest to withdraw 
From envy and the disappointed thirst 
Of lucre, lest the bold familiar strife, 
"Which in the eye of Athens they upheld 
Against her legislator, should impair 
With trivial doubt the reverence of his laws. 
To Egypt therefore through the iEgean isles 
My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Xile 
Dwelt in Canopus. Thence the hallow'd domes 
Of Sais, and the rites to Isis paid, 
I sought, and in her temple's silent courts, 
Through many changing moons, attentive heard 
The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue 
At morn or midnight the deep story told 
Of her who represents whate'er has been, 
Or is, or shall be ; whose mysterious veil 
"No mortal hand hath ever yet remov'd. 
By him exhorted, southward to the walls 
OfOnlpass'd, the city of the sun, 
The ever-youthful god. 'Twas there amid 
His priests and sages, who the livelong night 
Watch the dread movements of the starry sphere, 
Or who in wondrous fables half disclose 
The secrets of the elements, 'twas there 



104 AKEMSIDE. 

That great Psenopliis taught my raptur'd ears 
The fanie of old Atlantis, of her chiefs, 
And her pure laws, the first which earth obey'd. 
Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale ; 
And often, while I listen'd, did my mind 
Foretel with what delight her own free lyre 
Should sometime for an Attic audience raise 
Anew that lofty scene, and from their tombs 
Call forth those ancient demigods to speak 
. Of Justice and the hidden Providence 

That walks among mankind. But yet meantime 

The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons 

Became less pleasing. With contempt I gaz'd 

On that tame garb, and those unvarying paths 

To which the double yoke of king and priest 

Had cramp 'd the sullen race. At last with hymns 

Invoking our own Pallas and the gods 

Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave 

To Egypt, and before the southern wind 

Spread my full sails. What climes I then survey 'd, 

What fortunes I encounter' d in the realm 

Of Croesus, or upon the Cyprian shore, 

The Muse, who prompts my bosom, doth not now 

Consent that I reveal. But when at length 

Ten times the sun returning from the south 

Had strow'd with flowers the verdant earth, and fill'd 

The groves with music, pleas'd I then beheld 

The term of those long errors drawing nigh. 

' Nor yet,' I said, l will I set down within 

The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod 

The Cretan soil, have pierc'd those reverend haunts 

Whence Law and Civil Concord issued forth 

As from their ancient home, and still to Greece 

Their wisest, loftiest discipline proclaim.' 

Straight where Amnisus. mart of wealthy ships, 

Appears beneath fam'd Cnossus and her towers, 

Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen, 

I check 'd my prow, and thence with eager steps 

The city of Minos enter'd. O ye gods, 

Who taught the leaders of the simpler time 

By written words to curb the untoward will 

Of mortals, how within that generous isle 

Have ye the triumphs of your power display 'd 

Munificent ! Those splendid merchants, lords 

Of traffic and the sea, with what delight 

I saw them at their public meal, like sons 



THE PLEASUBES OE IMAGINATION. 105 

Of the same household, join the plainer sort 

Whose wealth was only freedom ! whence to these 

Yile envy, and to those fantastic pride, 

Alike was strange ; but noble concord still 

Cherish'd the strength untam'd, the rustic faith, 

Of their first fathers. Then the growing race, 

How pleasing to behold them in their schools, 

Their sports, their labours, ever plac'd within, 

O shade of Minos ! thy controlling eye. 

Here was a docile band in tuneful tones 

Thy laws pronouncing, or with lofty hymns 

Praising the bounteous gods, or, to preserve 

Their country's heroes from oblivious night, 

Eesounding what the Muse inspir'd of old ; 

There, on the verge of manhood, others met, 

In heavy armour through the heats of noon 

To march, the rugged mountain's height to climb 

"With measur'd swiftness, from the hard-bent bow 

To send resistless arrows to their mark, 

Or for the fame of prowess to contend, 

^Tow wrestling, now with fists and staves oppos'd, 

jSTow with the biting falchion, and the fence 

Of brazen shields ; while still the warbling flute 

Presided o'er the combat, breathing strains 

Grave, solemn, soft ; and changing headlong spite 

To thoughtful resolution cool and clear. 

Such I beheld those islanders renown'd, 

So tutor'd from their birth to meet in war 

Each bold invader, and in peace to guard 

That living flame of reverence for their laws, 

Which nor the storms of fortune, nor the flood 

Of foreign wealth, diffus'd o'er all the land, 

Could quench or slacken. First of human names 

In every Cretan's heart was Minos still ; 

And holiest far, of what the sun surveys 

Through his whole course, were those primeval seats 

"Which with religious footsteps he had taught 

Their sires to approach ; the wild Dictaean cave 

Wliere Jove was born ; the ever verdant meads 

Of Ida, and the spacious grotto, where 

His active youth he pass'd, and where his throne 

Yet stands mysterious ; whither Minos came 

Each ninth retmming year, the king of gods 

And mortals there in secret to consult 

On justice, and the tables of his law 

To inscribe anew. Oft also with like zeal 



106 akeis t side. 

Great Rhea's mansion from the Cnossian gates 

Men visit ; nor less oft the antique fane 

Built on that sacred spot, along the banks 

Of shady Theron, where benignant Jove 

And his majestic consort join'd their hands 

And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas, 'twas there 

That the dire fame of Athens sunk in bonds 

I first receiv'd ; what time an annual feast 

Had summon'd all the genial country round, 

By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind 

That first great spousal ; while the enamour'd youths 

And virgins, with the priest before the shrine, 

Observe the same pure ritual, and invoke 

The same glad omens. There, among the crowd 

Of strangers from those naval cities drawn 

Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore, 

A merchant of iEgina I descried, 

My ancient host ; but, forward as I sprung 

To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow, 

Stopp'd half averse ; and, ' O Athenian guest, 5 

He said, ' art thou in Crete ; these joyful rites 

Partaking ? Know thy laws are blotted out : 

Thy country kneels before a tyrant's throne.' 

He added names of men, with hostile deeds 

Disastrous ; which obscure and indistinct 

I heard : for, while he spake, my heart grew cold 

And my eyes dim : the altars and their train 

"No more were present to me : how I far'd, 

Or whither turn'd, I know not ; nor recal 

Aught of those moments other than the sense 

Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep, 

And, from the toils of some distressful dream 

To break away, with palpitating heart, 

Weak limbs, and temples bath'd in death-like dew, 

Makes many a painful effort. When at last 

The sun and nature's face again appear'd, 

"Not far I found me ; where the public path, 

Winding through cypress groves and swelling meads, 

From Cnossus to the cave of Jove ascends. 

Heedless I follow'd on; till soon the skirts 

Of Ida rose before me, and the vault 

Wide opening pierc'd the mountain's rocky side. 

Entering within the threshold, on the ground 

I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil." 



THE PLEASUEES OP IMAGINATION. 107 



THE BEGINNING OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE 
PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 1770. 

One effort more, one cheerful sally more, 

Our destin'd course will finish ; and in peace 

Then, for an offering sacred to the powers 

"Who lent us gracious guidance, we will then 

Inscribe a monument of deathless praise, 

O my adventurous song ! With steady speed 

Long hast thou, on an untried voyage bound, 

Sail'd between earth and heaven : hast now survey 'd, 

Stretch'd out beneath thee, all the mazy tracts 

Of Passion and Opinion ; like a waste 

Of sands and flowery lawns and tangling woods, 

Where mortals roam bewilder'd : and hast now 

Exulting soar'd among the worlds above, 

Or hover' d near the eternal gates of heaven, 

If haply the discourses of the gods, 

A curious, but an unpresuming guest, 

Thou mightst partake, and carry back some strain 

Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat, 

And apt to be conceiv'd of man below. 

A different task remains ; the secret paths 

Of early genius to explore : to trace 

Those haunts where Fancy her predestin'd sons, 

Like to the demigods of old, doth nurse 

Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy souls 

Who now her tender discipline obey, 

Where dwell ye ? What wild river's brink at eve 

Imprint your steps ? What solemn groves at noon 

Use ye to visit, often breaking forth 

In rapture 'mid your dilatory walk, 

Or musing, as in slumber, on the green ? 

— Would I again were with you ! — O ye dales 

Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands ; where, 

Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides, 

And his banks open, and his lawns extend, 

Stops short the pleased traveller to view, 

Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower 

Pounded by JSTorman or by Saxon hands : 

O ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook 

The rocky pavement and the mossy falls 

Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream ; 



108 



AKEKSIDE. 



How gladly* I recal your well-known seats 
Belov'd of old, and that delightful time 
TVhen all alone, for many a summer's day, 
I wancler'd through your calm recesses, led 
In silence by some powerful hand unseen. 

Nor will I e'er forget you ; nor shall e'er 
The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice 
Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim 
Those studies which possessed me in the dawn 
Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind 
For every future year ; whence even now 
From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn, 
And, while the world around lies overwhelm'd 
In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts 
Of honourable fame, of truth divine 
Or moral, and of minds to virtue won 
By the sweet magic of harmonious verse ; 
The themes which now expect us. For thus far 
On general habits, and on arts which grow 
Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind, 
Hath dwelt our argument ; and how self-taught, 
Though seldom conscious of their own employ, 
In Nature's or in Fortune's changeful scene 
Men learn to judge of Beauty, and acquire 
Those forms set up, as idols in the soul 
For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct, 
In vulgar bosoms, and unnotic'd lie 
These pleasing stores, unless the casual force 
Of things external prompt the heedless mind 
To recognise her wealth. But some there are 
Conscious of Nature, and the rule which man 
O'er Nature holds : some who, within themselves 
Retiring from the trivial scenes of chance 
And momentary passion, can at will 
Call up these fair exemplars of the mind ; 
Review their features ; scan the secret laws 
Which bind them to each other : and display 
By forms, or sounds, or colours, to the sense 
Of all the world their latent charms display : 
Even as in Nature's frame (if such a word, 
If such a word, so bold, may from the lips 
Of man proceed) as in this outward frame 
Of things, the great Artificer portrays 
His own immense idea. Various names 
These among mortals bear, as various signs 
They use, and by peculiar organs speak 



THE PLEASTJKES OE IMAGOTATIOK". 109 

To human sense. There are who by the flight 

Of air through tubes with moving stops distinct, 

Or by extended chords in measure taught 

To vibrate, can assemble powerful sounds 

Expressing every temper of the mind 

From every cause, and charming all the soul 

With passion void of care. Others mean time 

The rugged mass of metal, wood, or stone, 

Patiently taming ; or with easier hand 

Describing lines, and with more ample scope 

Uniting colours ; can to general sight 

Produce those permanent and perfect forms, 

Those characters of heroes and of gods, 

Which, from the crude materials of the world, 

Their own high minds created. But the chief 

Are poets •, eloquent men, who dwell on earth 

To clothe what e'er the soul admires or loves 

With language and with numbers. Hence to these 

A field is open'd wide as Nature's sphere ; 

Nay, wider : various as the sudden acts 

Of human wit, and vast as the demands 

Of human will. The bard nor length, nor depth, 

Nor place, nor form controls. To eyes, to ears, 

To every organ of the copious mind, 

He offer eth all its treasures. Him the hours, 

The seasons him obey : and changeful Time 

Sees him at will keep measure with his flight, 

At will outstrip it. To enhance his toil, 

He summoneth from the uttermost extent 

Of things which God hath taught him, every form 

Auxiliar, every power : and all beside 

Excludes imperious. His prevailing hand 

Gives, to corporeal essence, life and sense 

And every stately function of the soul. 

The soul itself to him obsequious lies, 

Like matter's passive heap ; and as he wills, 

To reason and affection he assigns 

Their just alliances, their just degrees : 

Whence his peculiar honours : whence the race 

Of men who people his delightful world, 

Men genuine and according to themselves, 

Transcend as far the uncertain sons of earth, 

As earth itself to his delightful world, 

The palm of spotless Beauty doth resign. 



110 AKEXSIDE. 

ODES ON SEYEEAL SUBJECTS. 

IX TWO BOOKS. BOOK I. 

[The Odes were published in a quarto tract, March, 1745 ; the 
price being one shilling and sixpence. An octavo edition appeared 
in the same year. A short preface explains the character of the 
poems : " The following Odes were written at very distant intervals, 
and with a view to very different manners of expression and versi- 
fication. The author pretends chiefly to the merit of endeavour- 
ing to be correct, and of carefully attending to the best models. 
From what the ancients have left of this kind, perhaps the Ode 
may be allowed the most amiable species of poetry ; but certainly 
there is none which, in modern languages, has been generally 
attempted with so little success. For the perfection of lyric poetry 
depends, beyond that of any other, on the beauty of words and the 
gracefulness of numbers ; in both which respects the ancients had 
infinite advantages above us — a consideration which will alleviate 
the author's disappointment, if he should be found to have mis- 
carried." The first edition contained only ten odes. They re- 
appeared, with numerous improvements, in 1760 ; and again, after 
the death of the writer, in an altered and enlarged form.] 

ODE I. 

PREFACE. 



On yonder verdant hillock laid, 
Where oaks and elms, a friendly shade, 

O'erlook the falling stream, 
O master of the Latin lyre, 
Awhile with thee will I retire 

From summer's noontide beam. 

ii. 
And lo, within my lonely bower, 
The industrious bee from many a flower 

Collects her balmy dews : 
" For me," she sings, " the gems are born, 
For me their silken robe adorn, 

Their fragrant breath diffuse." 



ODES. ' 111 



III. 

Sweet murmurer ! may no rude storm 
This hospitable scene deform, 

Nor check thy gladsome toils ; 
Still may the buds unsullied spring, 
Still showers and sunshine court thy wing 

To these ambrosial spoils. 

IV. 

Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail 
Her fellow labourer thee to hail ; 

And lucky be the strains ! 
For long ago did Nature frame 
Your seasons and your arts the same, 

Your pleasures and your pains. 

V. 

Like thee, in lowly, sylvan scenes, 
On river banks and flowery greens 

My Muse delighted plays ; 
Nor through the desert of the air, 
Though swans or eagles triumph there, 

With fond ambition strays. 

VI. 

Nor where the boding raven chaunts, 
Nor near the owl's unhallow'd haunts 

Will she her cares employ ; 
But flies from ruins and from tombs, 
Prom Superstition's horrid glooms, 

To day-light and to joy. 

VII. 

Nor will she tempt the barren waste ; 
Nor deigns the lurking strength to taste 

Of any noxious thing ; 
But leaves with scorn to Envy's use 
The insipid nightshade's baneful juice, 

The nettle's sordid sting. 

VIII. 

From all which Nature fairest knows, 
The vernal blooms, the summer rose, 

She draws her blameless wealth : 
And, when the generous task is done, 
She consecrates a double boon, 

To Pleasure and to Health. 



112 AKEXSIDE. 

ODE II. 

0]S" THE WINTEE-SOLSTICE. 1 



The radiant ruler of the year 
At length his wintry goal attains ; 
Soon to reverse the long career, 
And northward bend his steady reins. 
Now, piercing half Potosi's height, 
Prone rush the fiery floods of light 
Ripening the mountain's silver stores : 
"While, in some cavern's horrid shade, 
The panting Indian hides his head, 
And oft the approach of eve implores. 

ii. 
But lo, on this deserted coast 
How pale the sun ! how thick the air ! 
Mustering his storms, a sordid host, 
Lo, Winter desolates the year. 
The fields resign their latest bloom ; 
No more the breezes waft perfume, 
No more the streams in music roll : 
But snows fall dark, or rains resound ; 
And, while great Nature mourns around, 
Her griefs infect the human soul. 

in. 
Hence the loud city's busy throngs 
Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire : 
Harmonious dances, festive songs, 
Against the spiteful heaven conspire. 
Meantime perhaps with tender fears 
Some village dame the curfew hears, 
While round the hearth her children play : 
At morn their father went abroad ; 
The moon is sunk, and deep the road ; 
She sighs, and wonders at his stay. 

1 Miss Seward considered this poem to be one of the most perfect Horatian 
odes in our language, and delighted to read it in dark winter weather. Her 
analysis is worth the trouble of quoting it : — " The ode opens with a fine 
description of the sun in his chariot, attaining his wintry goal, as to Europe, 
though he flames on Potosi in ardour intolerable. A winter landscape then 
rises in the stanzas. Next the poet beautifully adverts to the social plea- 
sures which soften the atmospheric horrors, then contrasts those pleasures 
with the terrors excited in the village wife. To these pictures succeed some 
sublime philosophic and religious reflections, and the ode concludes with a 
gay prospect of spring, an enamoured invocation to May, which the presence 
of his Eudora is to gild." — W. 



ODES. . 113 

IV. 

But thou, my lyre, awake, arise, 
And kail the sun's returning force : 
Even now he climbs the northern skies, 
And health and hope attend his course. 
Then louder howl the aerial waste, 
Be earth with keener cold embrac'd, 
Yet gentle hours advance their wing ; 
And Fancy, mocking Winter's might, 
With flowers and dews and streaming light, 
Already decks the new-born spring. 

v. 

fountain of the golden day, 

Could mortal vows promote thy speed, 
How soon before thy vernal ray 
Should each unkindly damp recede ! 
How soon each hovering tempest fly, 
Whose stores for mischief arm the sky, 
IPrompt on our heads to burst amain, 
To rend the forest from the steep, 
Or, thundering o'er the Baltic deep, 
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain ! 

VI. 

But let not man's unequal views 
Presume o'er Nature and her laws : 
'Tis his with grateful joy to use 
The indulgence of the Sov'reign Cause; 
Secure that health and beauty springs 
Through this majestic frame of things, 
Beyond what he can reach to know ; 
And ihat Heaven's all- subduing will, 
With good, the progeny of ill, 
Attempereth every state below. 

VII. 

How pleasing wears the wintry night, 
Spent with the old illustrious dead ! 
While, by the taper's trembling light, 

1 seem those awful scenes to tread 
Where chiefs or legislators lie, 
Whose triumphs move before my eye 
In arms and antique pomp array'd ; 
While now I taste the Ionian song, 
Now bend to Plato's godlike tongue 
Resounding through the olive shade. 



114 AKEtfSIDE. 

VIII. 

But should some cheerful, equal friend 
Bid leave the studious page awhile, 
Let mirth on wisdom then attend, 
And social ease on learned toil. 
Then while, at love's uncareful shrine, 
Each dictates to the god of wine 
Her name whom all his hopes obey, 
What nattering dreams each bosom warm, 
While absence, heightening eveiy charm, 
Invokes the slow-returning May ! 

IX. 

May, thou delight of Heaven and earth, 

When will thy genial star arise ? 

The auspicious morn, which gives thee birth, 

Shall bring Eudora to my eyes. 

Within her sylvan haunt behold, 

As in the happy garden old, 

She moves like that primeval fair : I 

Thither, ye silver-sounding lyres, 

Ye tender smiles, ye chaste desires, 

Eond hope and mutual faith repair. 

x. 

And if believing love can read 
His better omens in her eye, 
Then shall my fears O charming maid, 
And every pain of absence die : 
Then shall my jocund harp, attun'd 
To thy true ear, with sweeter sound 
Pursue the free Horatian song : 
Old Tyne shall listen to my tale, 
And Echo, down the bordering vale, 
The liquid melody prolong. 

FOK THE WIOTEK SOLSTICE, DECEMBEK 11, 1740. 

AS OEI GIN ALLY WRITTEN. 

"Now to the utmost southern goal 
The sun has trac'd his annual way, 
And backward now prepares to roll, 
And bless the north with earlier day. 
Prone on Potosi's lofty brow 
Floods of sublimer splendour flow, 
Kipening the latent seeds of gold, 
Whilst, panting in the lonely shade, 
Th' afflicted Indian hides his head, 
Nor dares the blaze of noon behold. 



ODES. 115 



But lo ! on this deserted coast 

How faint the light, how chill the air ! 

Lo ! arm'd with whirlwind, hail, and frost, 

Fierce Winter desolates the year. 

The fields resign their cheerful bloom, 

No more the breezes breathe perfume, 

No more the warbling waters roll ; 

Deserts of snow fatigue the eye, 

Successive tempests bloat the sky, 

And gloomy damps oppress the soul. 

But let my drooping genius rise, 
And hail the sun's remotest ray: 
Now, now he climbs the northern sides, 
To-morrow nearer than to-day. 
Then louder howl the stormy waste, 
Be land or ocean worse defac'd, 
Yet brighter hours are on the wing, 
And Fancy, through the wintry gloom, 
Radiant with dews and flowers in bloom, 
Already hails th' emerging spring. 

O fountain of the golden day ! 
Could mortal vows but urge thy speed, 
How soon before thy vernal ray 
Should each unkindly damp recede ! 
How soon each tempest hovering fly, 
That now fermenting loads the sky. 
Prompt on our heads to burst amain, 
To rend the forest from the steep, 
And thundering o'er the Baltic deep, 
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain ! 

But let not man's imperfect views 
Presume to tax wise Nature's laws ; 
'Tis his with silent joy to use 
Th' indulgence of the Sovereign Cause j 
Secure that from the whole of things 
Beauty and good consummate springs 
Beyond what he can reach to know, 
And that the providence of Heaven 
Has some peculiar blessing given 
To each allotted state below. 

Even now how sweet the wintry night 
Spent with the old illustrious dead ! 
While by the taper's trembling light, 
I seem those awful courts to tread, 
Where chiefs and legislators lie, 
Whose triumphs move before my eye, 
With every laurel fresh display'd; 
While charm' d I rove in classic song, 
Or bend to freedom's fearless tongue, 
Or walk the academic shade. 



116 AKENSIDE. 

ODE III. 

TO A FKIEKD TO SUCCESSFUL IN LOYE. 1 
I. 

Indeed, my Phsedria, if to find 
That wealth can female wishes gain, 
Had e'er disturb'd your thoughtful mind, 
Or caused one serious moment's pain, 
I should have said that all the rules, 
You learned of moralists and schools, 
Were very useless, very vain. 

ii. 
Yet I perhaps mistake the case — 
Say, though with this heroic air, 
Like one that holds a nobler chase, 
You try the tender loss to bear; 
Does not your heart renounce your tongue ? 
Seems not my censure strangely wrong 
To count it such a slight affair ? 

in. 
When Hesper gilds the shaded sky, 
Oft as you seek the well-known grove, 
Methinks I see you cast your eye 
Back to the morning scenes of love : 
Each pleasing word you heard her say, 
Her gentle look, her graceful way, 
Again your struggling fancy move. 

IV. 

Then tell me, is your soul entire ? 
Does Wisdom calmly hold her throne? 
Then can you question each desire, 
Bid this remain, and that begone ? 
No tear half-starting from your eye? 
No kindling blush you know not why ? 
No stealing sigh, nor stifled groan ? 

1 Phsedria is supposed to indicate Thomas Edwards, the author of the 
C{ Canons," of whose disappointed attachment we catch a glimpse in a 
sonnet (xiii.) to his friend Mr. Wray, written during the pains of sickness, 
which he found easy, he declares, 

" If weighed with those that rack'd my tortur'd breast 
When my fond heart from Amoret was torn ; 
So true that word of Solomon I find, 
2fo pain so grievous as a wounded mind." — W. 



ODES, 117 



Away with tliis unmanly mood ! 
See where the hoary churl appears, 
Whose hand hath seiz'd the favourite good 
Which you reserv'd for happier years : 
While, side by side, the blushing maid 
Shrinks from his visage, half afraid, 
Spite of the sickly joy she wears. 



Ye guardian powers of love and fame, 
This chaste, harmonious pair behold; 
And thus reward the generous name 
Of all who barter vows for gold. 
O bloom of youth, O tender charms 
Well-buried in a dotard's arms ! 
O equal price of beauty sold ! 

VII. 

Cease then to gaze with looks of love : 

Bid her adieu, the venal fair : 

Unworthy she your bliss to prove ; 

Then wherefore should she prove your care t 

No : lay your myrtle garland down ; 

And let awhile the willow's crown 

With luckier omens bind your hair. 



O just escap'd the faithless main, 
Though driven unwilling on the land ; 
To guide your favour'd steps again, 
Behold your better Genius stand : 
Where Truth revolves her page divine, 
Where Yirtue leads to Honour's shrine, 
Behold, he lifts his awful hand. 

IX. 

Fix but on these your ruling aim, 
And Time, the sire of manly care, 
Will fancy's dazzling colours tame ; 
A soberer dress will beauty wear : 
Then shall esteem, by knowledge led, 
Inthrone within your heart and head 
Some happier love, some truer fair. 



118 AKENSIDE. 

ODE IY. 

AFFECTED IKDIEEEKENCE. — TO THE SAME. 

I. 

Yes : yon contemn the perjnr'd maid 
Who all your favourite hopes betray'd : 
Nor, though her heart should home return, 
Her tuneful tongue its falsehood mourn, 
Her winning eyes your faith implore, 
Would you her hand receive again, 
Or once dissemble your disdain, 
Or listen to the syren's theme, 
Or stoop to love : since now esteem 
And confidence, and friendship, is no more. 

ii. 

Yet tell me, Phsedria, tell me why, 
When summoning your pride you try 
To meet her looks with cool neglect, 
Or cross her walk with slight respect, 
(For so is falsehood best repaid) 
Whence do your cheeks indignant glow ? 
Why is your struggling tongue so slow ? 
What means that darkness on your brow ? 
As if with all her broken vow 
You meant the fair apostate to upbraid ? 



ODE Y. 

AGAINST SUSPICION. 1 

I. 

Oh fly ! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien ; 
And meditating plagues unseen, 

The sorceress hither bends ; 
Behold her torch in gall imbrued : 
Behold — her garment drops with blood 

Of lovers and of friends. 

1 Warton, speaking of Pope's verses " On an Unfortunate Lady," remarks 
that the elegy opens with a striking abruptness, and a strong image; the 
poet fancies he beholds suddenly the phantom of his murdered friend,— 
" What beck'ning ghost/' &c. 
This question alarms the reader. Akenside has begun one of his odes in 
the like manner : — 

" O fly ! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien." 

Essay on Pope, i. 247. 
According to Mr. Bucke, the poet had a friend who felt unjustly jealous of 
his wife, and applied to Akenside for advice. The Ode was the answer.— W. 



ODES. 119 

II. 
Fly far ! Already in your eyes 
I see a pale suffusion rise ; 

And soon through every vein, 
Soon will her secret venom spread, 
And all your heart and all your head 

Imbibe the potent stain, 
in. 
Then many a demon will she raise 
To vex your sleep, to haunt your ways ; 

While gleams of lost delight 
Baise the dark tempest of the brain, 
As lightning shines across the main 

Through whirlwinds and through night. 

IV. 

"No more can faith or candour move ; 
But each ingenuous deed of love, 

Which reason would applaud, 
]S"ow, smiling o'er her dark distress, 
Fancy malignant strives to dress 

Like injury and fraud. 
v. 
Farewell to virtue's peaceful times : 
Soon will you stoop to act the crimes 

Which thus you stoop to fear : 
Guilt follows guilt : and where the train 
Begins with wrongs of such a stain, 

What horrors form the rear ! 

VI. 

'Tis thus to work her baleful power, J 
Suspicion waits the sullen hour 

Of fretfulness and strife, 
When care the infirmer bosom wrings, 
Or Eurus waves his murky wings 

To damp the seats of life. 

VII. 

But come, forsake the scene unbless'd 
Which first beheld your faithful breast 

To groundless fears a prey : 
Come, where with my prevailing lyre 
The skies, the streams, the groves conspire 

To charm your doubts away. 

1 c< There is a passage in one of the Odes of Akenside, in which a scene, 
which is in general only beautiful, is rendered strikingly sublime, from the 
imagery with which it is associated."— Alisok"— On Taste, i. } p. 30.— W. 



120 



AKENSIDE. 



Thron'd in the sun's descending ear, 
What power unseen diffuseth far 

This tenderness of mind ? 
What Genius smiles on yonder flood? 
What God, in whispers from the wood, 

Bids every thought be kind ? 

IX. 

thou, what e'er thy awful name, 
Whose wisdom our untoward frame 

With social love restrains ; 
Thou, who by fair affection's ties 
Giv'st us to double all our joys, 

And half disarm our pains ; 

x. 

Let universal candour still, 

Clear as yon heaven-reflecting rill, 

Preserve my open mind ; 
Nor this nor that man's crooked ways 
One sordid doubt within me raise 

To injure human kind. 1 



ODE YI. 

HYMtf TO CHEEKEUI/N-ESS. 

How thick the shades of evening close ! 
How pale the sky with weight of snows ! 
Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire, 2 
And bid the joyless day retire. 

Alas, in vain I try within 

To brighten the dejected scene, 

1 The editor of the American edition inserts the following stanza, found 
in a copy presented by the Poet : — 

" If far from Dyson and from me 
Suspicion took, by thy decree, 

Her everlasting flight; 
If firm on virtue's ample base 
Thy parent hand has deign' d to raise 

Our friendship's honour' d height." — W. 

2 Horace Walpole, writing to Sir Horace Mann, informs him that among 
C{ the tame geniuses" of the day is " a Mr. Akenside, who writes odes ; in 
one he has lately published he says, ' Light the tapers, urge the fire.' Had 
you not rather make gods jostle in the dark 3 than light the candies for fear 
they should break their heads." — W. 



ODES. 

While rous'd by grief these fiery pains 
Tear the frail texture of ray veins; 
While Winter's voice, that storms around, 
And yon deep death-bell's groaning sound 
Renew ray mind's oppressive gloom. 
Till starting Horror shakes the room. 

Is there in nature no kind power 
To soothe affliction's lonely hour ? 
To blunt the edge of dire disease, 
And teach these wintry shades to please ? 
Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant fair. 
Shine through the hovering cloud of care : 
O sweet of language, mild of mien, 
O Virtue's friend and Pleasure's queen, 
Assuage the flames that burn my breast, 
Compose my jarring thoughts to rest ; 
And while thy gracious gifts I feel, 
My song shall all thy praise reveal. 

As once ('twas in Astraea's reign) 
The vernal powers renew'd their train, 
It happen'd that immortal Love 
Was ranging through the spheres above, 
And downward hither cast his eye 
The year's returning pomp to spy. 
He saw the radiant god of day 
Waft in his car the rosy May ; 
The fragrant Airs and genial Hours 
Were shedding round him dews and flowers ; 
Before his wheels Aurora pass'd, 
And Hesper's golden lamp was last. 
But, fairest of the blooming throng, 
When Health majestic mov'd along, 
Delighted to survey below 
The joys which from her presence flow, 
While earth enliven' d hears her voice, 
And swains, and flocks, and fields rejoice ; 
Then mighty Love her charms confess'd, 
And soon his vows inclin'd her breast, 
And, known from that auspicious morn, 
The pleasing Cheerfulness was born. 

Thou, Cheerfulness, by heaven design'd 
To sway the movements of the mind, 
Whatever fretful passion springs, 
Whatever wayward fortune brings 
To disarrange the power within, 
And strain the musical machine ; 



121 



122 AKENSIDE. 

Thou Goddess, thy attempering hand 
Doth each discordant string command, 
[Refines the soft, and swells the strong ; 
And, joining Nature's general song, 
Through many a varying tone unfolds 
The harmony of human souls. 

Fair guardian of domestic life, 
Kind banisher of homebred strife, 
"Nov sullen lip, nor taunting eye 
Deforms the scene where thou art by : 
"No sickening husband damns the hour 
Which bound his joys to female power ; 
"No pining mother weeps the cares 
Which parents waste on thankless heirs : 
The officious daughters pleas 'd attend ; 
The brother adds the name of friend : 
By thee with flowers their board is crown'd, 
With songs from thee their walks resound ; 
And morn with welcome lustre shines, 
And evening unperceiv'd declines. 

Is there a youth, whose anxious heart 
Labours with love's unpitied smart ? 
Though now he stray by rills and bowers, 
And weeping waste the lonely hours, 
Or if the nymph her audience deign, 
Debase the story of his pain 
With slavish looks, discolour'd eyes, 
And accents faltering into sighs ; 
Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease 
Canst yield him happier arts to please, 
Inform his mien with manlier charms, 
Instruct his tongue with nobler arms, 
With more commanding passion move, 
And teach the dignity of love. 

Friend to the Muse and all her train, 
For thee I court the Muse again : 
The Muse for thee may well exert 
Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art, 
Who owes to thee that pleasing sway 
Which earth and peopled heaven obey. 
Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue 
Repeat what later bards have sung : 
But thine was Homer's ancient might, 
And thine victorious Pindar's flight : 
Thy hand each Lesbian wreath attir'd : 
Thy lip Sicilian reeds inspir'd : 



ODES. 123 

Thy spirit lent the glad perfume 
Whence yet the flowers of Teos bloom ; 
Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale 
Delicious blows the enlivening gale, 
While Horace calls thy sportive choir, 
Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre. 

But see where yonder pensive sage, 
(A prey perhaps to fortune's rage, 
Perhaps by tender griefs oppress'd, 
Or glooms congenial to his breast) 
Retires in desert scenes to dwell, 
And bids the joyless world farewell. 
Alone he treads the autumnal shade, 
Alone beneath the mountain laid 
He sees the nightly damps ascend, 
And gathering storms aloft impend ; 
He hears the neighbouring surges roll, 
And raging thunders shake the pole : 
Then, struck by every object round, 
And stunn'd by every horrid sound, 
He asks a clue for Nature's ways ; 
But evil haunts him through the maze : 
He sees ten thousand demons rise 
To wield the empire of the skies, 
And Chance and Fate assume the rod, 
And Malice blot the throne of God. 
— O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, 
Thy lenient influence hither bring : 
Compose the storm, dispel the gloom, 
Till Nature wear her wonted bloom, 
Till fields and shades their sweets exhale, 
And music swell each opening gale : 
Then o'er his breast thy softness pour, 
And let him learn the timely hour 
To trace the world's benignant laws, 
And judge of that presiding cause 
Who founds on discord beauty's reign, 
Converts to pleasure every pain, 
Subdues each hostile form to rest, 
And bids the universe be bless'd. 

O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, 
If right I touch the votive string, 
If equal praise I yield thy name, 
Still govern thou thy poet's flame ; 
Still with the Muse my bosom share, 
And soothe to peace intruding care. 



124 AKENSIDE. 

But most exert thy pleasing power 
On friendship's consecrated hour ; 
And while my Sophron points the road 
To godlike wisdom's calm abode, 
Or warm in freedom's ancient cause 
Traceth the source of Albion's laws, 
Add thou o'er all the generous toil 
The light of thy unclouded smile. 
But, if by fortune's stubborn sway 
From him and friendship torn away, 
I court the Muse's healing spell 
For griefs that still with absence dwell, 
Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams 
To such indulgent placid themes, 
As just the struggling breast may cheer, 
And just suspend the starting tear, 
Yet leave that sacred sense of woe 
Which none but friends and lowers know. 



ODE VII. 

ON THE USE OE POETRY. 
I. 
Not for themselves did human kind 
Contrive the parts by heaven assign'd 

On life's wide scene to play : 
Not Scipio's force, nor Caesar's skill 
Can conquer Glory's arduous hill, 
If Fortune close the way. 

ii. 
Yet still the self- depending soul, 
Though last and least in Fortune's roll, 

His proper sphere commands ; 
And knows what Nature's seal bestow'd, 
And sees, before the throne of God, 

The rank in which he stands. 

in. 

Who train'd by laws the future age, 
Who rescu'd nations from the rage 

Of partial, factious power, 
My heart with distant homage views ; 
Content if thou, celestial Muse, 

Didst rule my natal hour. 



ODES. 125 

IV. 

Not far beneath the hero's feet, 
]S"or from the legislator's seat 

Stands far remote the bard. 
Though not with public terrors crown'd, 
Yet wider shall his rule be found, 

More lasting his award. 

V. 

Lycurgus fashion'd Sparta's fame, 
And Ponipey to the Soman name 

Gave universal sway : 
Where are they? — Homer's reverend page 
Holds empire to the thirtieth age, 

And tongues and climes obey. 

VI. 

And thus when William's acts divine 
1S0 longer shall from Bourbon's line 

Draw one vindictive vow ; 
When Sidney shall with Cato rest, 
And Russell move the patriot's breast 

JSTo more than Brutus now ; 

VII. 

Yet then shall Shakespeare's powerful art 
O'er every passion, every heart, 

Confirm his awful throne : 
Tyrants shall bow before his laws ; 
And Freedom's, Glory's, Virtue's cause, 

Their dread assertor own. 



ODE VIII. 

OK LEAVING HOLLAND. 1 
I. 1. 
Fahewell to Leyden's lonely bound, 
The Belgian ^fuse's sober seat ; 
Where dealing frugal gifts around 
To all the favourites at her feet, 

1 " I will not spend time in giving you my sentiments of Holland or Levden. 
One thing struck me very strongly, the absurd inconsistence between'their 
ceremonious foppishness (miscalled politeness), and their gross insensibility 
to the true decorum in numberless instances. Such is their architecture, 
their painting, their music ; such their dress, the furniture of their houses' 
the air of their chariots, and the countenance of their polity, that when I 
think of England, I cannot help paying it the same veneration' and applause, 
which at London I thought due only to Athens, to Corinth, or to Syracuse." 
— AJcenside to Dyson, April 7, 1744. — W. 



126 AKENSIDE. 

She trains the body's bulky frame 

For passive, persevering toils ; 

And lest, from any prouder aim, 
The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils, 
She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless flame. 
i. 2. 

Farewell the grave, pacific air, 

Where never mountain zephyr blew : 

The marshy levels lank and bare, 

Which Pan, which Ceres never knew : 

The Naiads, with obscene attire, 

Urging in vain their urns to flow ; 

While round them chant the croaking choir, 
And haply soothe some lover's prudent woe, 
Or prompt some restive bard and modulate his lyre. 
i. 3. 

Farewell, ye nymphs, whom sober care of gain 

Snatch'd in your cradles from the god of Love : 

She render'd all his boasted arrows vain : 

And all his gifts did he in spite remove. 

Ye too, the slow-ey'd fathers of the land, 

With whom dominion steals from hand to hand, 

Unown'd, undignified by public choice, 

I go where Liberty to all is known, 
And tells a monarch on his throne, 
He reigns not but by her preserving voice. 1 
ii. 1. 

O my lov'd England, when with thee 

Shall I sit down, to part no more ? 

Far from this pale, discolour'd sea, 

That sleeps upon the reedy shore : 

When shall I plough thy azure tide ? 

When on thy hills the flocks admire, 

Like mountain snows ; till down their side 
I trace the village and the sacred spire, 
While bowers and copses green the golden slope divide? 

i « If there be any truth in the supposition that Dr. Akenside and his friend 
entertained republican ideas in their youth, it is probable that they might 
afterwards soften the rigour of their sentiments. In the Ode on leaving 
Holland, the three following lines, 

" I go where Freedom in the streets is known, 
And tells a monarch on his throne, 
Tells him he reigns, he lives but by her voice" 
are thus changed in the last edition : — 

" I go where Liberty to all is known, 
And tells a monarch on his throne, 
Me reigns not but by her preserving voice"— Kjppis.— W. 



ODES. 127 



ii. 2. 



Ye nymphs who guard the pathless grove, 
Ye blue-ey'd sisters of the streams, 
With whom I wont at morn to rove, 
With whom at noon 1 talk'd in dreams ; 
O ! take me to your haunts again, 
The rocky spring, the greenwood glade ; 
To guide my lonely footsteps deign, 
To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade, 
And soothe my vacant ear with many an airy strain. 

ii. 3. 

And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn 
Thy drooping master's inauspicious hand : 
Now brighter skies and fresher gales return, 
Now fairer maids thy melody demand. 
Daughters of Albion, listen to my lyre ! 

Pheebus, guardian of the Aonian choir, 
Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own, 
When all the virgin deities above 

With Venus and with Juno move 
In concert round the Olympian father's throne ? 

in. 1. 

Thee too, protectress of my lays, 
Elate with whose majestic call 
Above degenerate Latium's praise, 
Above the slavish boast of Gaul, 

1 dare from impious thrones reclaim, 
And wanton sloth's ignoble charms, 
The honours of a poet's name 

To Somers' counsels, or to Hampden's arms, 
Thee, Freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine flame. 

in. 2. 

Great citizen of Albion. Thee 
Heroic Yalour still attends, 
And useful Science pleas'd to see 
How Art her studious toil extends : 
While Truth, diffusing from on high 
A lustre unconfin'd as day, 
Fills and commands the public eye, 
Till, pierc'd and sinking by her powerful ray, 
Tame Faith and monkish Awe, like nightly demons, fly. 



128 AKE1S T SIDE. 

in. 3. 

Hence the whole land the patriot's ardour shares : 
Hence dread Religion dwells with social Joy : 
And holy passions and unsullied cares, 
In youth, in age, domestic life employ. 
O fair Britannia, hail ! — With partial love 
The tribes of men their native seats approve, 
Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame : 
But when for generous minds and manly laws 

A nation holds her prime applause, 
There public zeal shall all reproof disclaim. 



ODE IX. 
to curio. 1744. 1 



i. 

Thrice hath the spring beheld thy faded fame 
Since I exulting grasp'd the tuneful shell : 
Eager througli endless years to sound thy name, 
Proud that my memory with thine should dwell. 
How hast thou stain'd the splendour of my choice ! 
Those godlike forms which hover'd round thy voice, 
Laws, freedom, glory, whither are they flown? 
What can I now of thee to Time report, 
Save thy fond country made thy impious sport, 
Her fortune and her hope the victims of thy own ? 

ii. 
There are with eyes unmov'd and reckless heart 
Who saw thee from thy summit fall thus low, 
Who deem'd thy arm extended but to dart 
The public vengeance on thy private foe. 
But, spite of every gloss of envious minds, 
The owl-eyed race whom virtue's lustre blinds, 
Who sagely prove that each man hath his price, 
I still believ'd thy aim from blemish free, 
I yet, even yet, believe it, spite of thee 
And all thy painted pleas to greatness and to vice. 

1 " Such was his love of lyrics, that having written with great vigour and 
poignancy his Epistle to Curio, he transformed it afterwards into an ode 
disgraceful only to its author." A smart saying is seldom true. This of 
Johnson is not. We find nothing disgraceful in Akenside's ode; on the con- 
trary, the spirit is animated, and some of the lines are bold, and might have 
been admired if they were not outshone by the Epistle. There is a singular 
oversight in the fifth stanza, where " crowns" is compelled to rhyme with 
" sounds." — W. 



ODES. 129 

III. 
" Thou didst not dream of liberty decay'd, 
Nor wish to make her guardian laws more strong : 
But the rash many, first by thee misled, 
Bore thee at length unwillingly along." 
Bise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old 
For faith deserted, or for cities sold, 
Own here one untried, unexampled deed ; 
One mystery of shame from Curio learn, 
To beg the infamy he did not earn, [meed. 

And 'scape in Guilt's disguise from Virtue's offer'd 

IV. 

For saw we not that dangerous power avow'd 
Whom Freedom oft hath found her mortal bane, 
Whom public Wisdom ever strove to exclude, 
And but with blushes suffereth in her train? 
Corruption vaunted her bewitching spoils, 
O'er court, o'er senate, spread in pomp her toils, 
And call'd herself the state's directing soul : 
Till Curio, like a good magician, tried 
With Eloquence and Beason at his side, [trol. 

By strength of holier spells the enchantress to con- 

v. 
Soon with thy country's hope thy fame extends : 
The rescued merchant oft thy words resounds : 
Thee and thy cause the rural hearth defends : 
His bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns : 
The learn' d recluse, with awful zeal who read 
Of Grecian heroes, Boman patriots dead, 
]N"ow with like awe doth living merit scan : 
While he, whom virtue in his blest retreat 
Bade social ease and public passions meet, 
Ascends the civil scene, and knows to be a man. 

VI. 

At length in view the glorious end appear'd : 
We saw thy spirit through the senate reign ; 
And Freedom's friends thy instant omen heard 
Of laws for which their fathers bled in vain. 
Wak'd in the strife the public Genius rose 
More keen, more ardent from his long repose : 
Deep through her bounds the city felt his call : 
Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, 
And murmuring challeng'd the deciding hour 
Of that too vast event, the hope and dread of all. 

K 



130 AKENSTDE. 

VII, 

O ye good powers ! who look on humankind, 
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll ; 
And watch the fleeting shapes in Curio's mind, 
And steer his passions steady to the goal. 
O Alfred, father of the English name, 
O valiant Edward, first in civil fame, 
O William, height of public virtue pure, 
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, 
Behold the sum of all your labours nigh, 
Your plans of law complete, your ends of rule secure. 

VIII. 

'Twas then — shame ! O soul from faith 

estrang'd ! 
O Albion oft to flattering vows a prey ! 
'Twas then — Thy thought what sudden frenzy 

chang'd ? 
What rushing palsy took thy strength away ? 
Is this the man in Freedom's cause approv'd ? 
The man so great, so honour'd, so belov'd ? 
Whom the dead envied, and the living bless'd ? 
This patient slave by tinsel bonds allur'd ? 
This wretched suitor for a boon abjur'd ? 
Whom those that fear'd him, scorn ; that trusted 

him, detest? 



O lost alike to action and repose ! 
With all that habit of familiar fame, 
Sold to the mockery of relentless foes, 
And doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame, 
To act with burning brow and throbbing heart 
A poor deserter's dull exploded part, 
To slight the favour thou canst hope no more, 
Renounce the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind, _ 
Charge thy own lightness on thy country's mind, 
And from her voice appeal to each tame foreign 
shore. 

x. 

But England's sons, to purchase thence applause, 
Shall ne'er the loyalty of slaves pretend, 
By courtly passions try the public cause ; 
JNor to the forms of rule betray the end. 



ODES. 131 

O race erect ! by manliest passions inov'd, 
The labours which to Virtue stand approv'd, 
Prompt with a lover's fondness to survey ; 
Yet, where Injustice works her wilful claim, 
Fierce as the night of Jove's destroying flame, 
Impatient to confront, and dreadful to repay. 

XI. 

These thy heart owns no longer. In their room 
See the grave queen of pageants, Honour, dwell, 
Couch'd in thy bosom's deep tempestuous gloom, 
Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell. 
Before her rites thy sickening reason flew, 
Divine Persuasion from thy tongue withdrew, 
While Laughter mock'd, or Pity stole a sigh : 
Can Wit her tender movements rightly frame 
Where the prime function of the soul is lame ? 
Can Fancy's feeble springs the force of Truth 
supply ? 

XII. 

But come : 'tis time : strong Destiny impends 
To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd : 
With princes fill'd, the solemn fane ascends, 
By Infamy, the mindful demon sway'd. 
There vengeful vows for guardian laws effac'd, 
From nations fetter 'd, and from towns laid waste, 
For ever through the spacious courts resound : 
There long posterity's united groan, 
And the sad charge of horrors not their own , 
Assail the giant chiefs, and press them to the ground. 

XIII. 

In sight old Time, imperious judge, awaits : 
Above revenge, or fear, or pity, just, 
He urgeth onward to those guilty gates 
The Great, the Sage, the Happy, and August. 
And still he asks them of the hidden plan 
Whence every treaty, every war began, 
Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims : 
And still his hands despoil them on the road 
Of each vain wreath by lying bards bestow'd, 
And crush their trophies huge, and raze their sculptur'd 
names. 

k 2 



132 AKENSIDE. 

XIV. 

Ye mighty shades, arise, give place, attend : 
Here his eternal mansion Cnrio seeks : 
— Low doth proud Wentworth 1 to the stranger bend, 
And his dire welcome hardy Clifford 2 speaks : 
" He comes, whom fate with surer arts prepar'd 
To accomplish all which we but vainly dar'd ; 
Whom o'er the stubborn herd she taught to reign : 
Who sooth'd with gaudy dreams their raging power, 
Even to its last irrevocable hour ; 
Then baffled their rude strength, and broke them to the 
chain." 

xv. 

But ye, whom yet wise Liberty inspires, 
Whom for her champions o'er the world she claims, 
(That household godhead whom of old your sires 
Songht in the woods of Elbe and bore to Thames) 
Drive ye this hostile omen far away ; 
Their own fell efforts on her foes repay ; 
Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be hers alone : 
Still gird your swords to combat on her side ; 
Still frame your laws her generous test to abide ; 
And win to her defence the altar and the throne. 

XVI. 

Protect her from yourselves, ere yet the flood 
Of golden Luxury, which Commerce pours, 
Hath spread that selfish fierceness through your blood, 
Which not her lightest discipline endures : 
Snatch from fantastic demagogues her cause : 
Dream not of Numa's manners, Plato's laws : 
A wiser founder, and a nobler plan, 
O sons of Alfred, were for you assign'd : 
Bring to that birthright but an equal mind, 
And no sublimer lot will fate reserve for man. 

i The famous Earl of Strafford.— W\ 

2 The minister of the Cabal. Akenside remembered the popular ballad, 
which is supposed to have been written by Lord Dorset : — 

" Clarendon had law and sense, 

Clifford was fierce and brave" — ~W. 



ODES. 133 

ODE X. 

TO THE MUSE. 

I. 

Queen of my songs, harmonious maid, 

All, why hast thou withdrawn thy aid ? 

Ah, why forsaken thus my breast 

With inauspicious damps oppress'd? 

"Where is the dread prophetic heat, 

With which my bosom wont to beat ? 

Where all the bright mysterious dreams 

Of haunted groves and tuneful streams, 
That woo'd my genius to divinest themes P 
ii. 

Say, goddess, can the festal board, 

Or young Olympia's form ador'd ; 

Say, can the pomp of promis'd fame 

Heroine thy faint, thy dying flame ? 

Or have melodious airs the power 

To give one free, poetic hour ? 

Or, from amid the Elysian train, 

The soul of Milton shall I gain, 
To win thee back with some celestial strain ? 
in. 

powerful strain ! O sacred soul ! 
His numbers every sense control : 
And now again my bosom burns ; 
The Muse, the Muse herself returns. 
Such on the banks of Tyne, confess 'd, 

1 liail'd the fair immortal guest, 
When first she seal'd me for her own, 
Made all her blissful treasures known, 

And bade me swear to follow Her alone. 



ODE XL 

01$ LOYE, TO A. FRIEND. 
I. 

No, foolish youth — To virtuous fame 
If now thy early hopes be vow'd, 
If true ambition's nobler flame 
Command thy footsteps from the crowd, 



134 AKENSI.DE. 

Lean not to Love's enchanting snare ; 
His songs, his words, his looks beware, 
Nor join his votaries, the young and fair. 

ii. 
By thought, by dangers, and by toils, 
The wreath of just renown is worn ; 
Nor will ambition's awful spoils 
The flowery pomp of ease adorn : 
But Love unbends the force of thought ; 
By Love unmanly fears are taught : 
And Love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought. 

in. 

Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays, 
And heard from many a zealous breast, 
The pleasing tale of Beauty's praise 
In wisdom's lofty language dress'd ; 
Of beauty powerful to impart 
Each finer sense, each comelier art, 
And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart. 

IV. 

If then, from Love's deceit secure, 
Thus far alone thy wishes tend, 
Go ; see the white-wing'd evening hour 
On Delia's vernal walk descend : 
Go, while the golden light serene, 
The grove, the lawn, the soften' d scene, 
Becomes the presence of the rural queen. 

v. 

Attend, while that harmonious tongue 
Each bosom, each desire commands : 
Apollo's lute by Hermes strung, 
And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands, 
Attend. I feel a force divine, 
O Delia, win my thoughts to thine ; 
That half the colour of thy life is mine. 

VI. 

Yet conscious of the dangerous charm, 
Soon would I turn my steps away ; 
Nor oft provoke the lovely harm, 
Nor lull my reason's watchful sway. 
But thou my friend — I hear thy sighs : 
Alas, I read thy downcast eyes ; 
And thy tongue falters ; and thy colour flies. 



ODES. 135 

VII. 

So soon again to meet the fair ? 
So pensive all this absent hour ? 
■ — O yet, unlucky youth, beware, 
While yet to think is in thy power. 
In vain with friendship's nattering name 
Thy passion veils its inward shame ; 
Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy name ! 



Once, I remember, new to Love, 
And dreading his tyrannic chain, 
I sought a gentle maid to prove 
"What peaceful joys in friendship reign : 
Whence we forsooth might safely stand, 
And pitying view the lovesick band, 
And mock the winged boy's malicious hand. 

i IX. 

Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day, 

To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd ; 

While I exulted to survey 

One generous woman's real mind : 

Till friendship soon my languid breast 

Each night with unknown cares possess'd, 

Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd. 
x. 
Pool that I was — And now, even now 
While thus I preach the Stoic strain, 
Unless I shun Olympia's view, 
An hour unsays it all again. 
O friend ! — when Love directs her eyes 
To pierce where every passion lies, 

Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise? 



ODE XII. 

TO SIR ERANCXS HE^RY DRAKE, BAROKET. 

I. 
Behold ; the Balance in the sky 
Swift on the wintry scale inclines : 
To earthy caves the Dryads fly, 
And the bare pastures Pan resigns. 



136 AKEtfSIDE. 

Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread, 
With recent soil, the twice-mown mead, 
Tainting the bloom which Autumn knows : 
He whets the rusty coulter now, 
He binds his oxen to the plough, 
And wide his future harvest throws. 

II. 

Now, London's busy confines round, 
By Kensington's imperial towers, 
From Highgate's rough descent profound, 
Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers, 
Where'er I pass, I see approach 
Some rural statesman's eager coach 
Hurried by senatorial cares : 
While rural nymphs (alike, within, 
Aspiring courtly praise to win) 
Debate their dress, reform their airs. 

in. • 

Say, what can now the country boast, 

Drake, thy footsteps to detain, 
When peevish winds and gloomy frost 
The sunshine of the temper stain ? 
Say, are the priests of Devon grown 
Friends to this tolerating throne, 
Champions for George's legal right ? 
Have general freedom, equal law, 
Won to the glory of Nassau 

Each bold Wessexian squire and knight ? 

IV. 

1 doubt it much ; and guess at least 
That when the day, which made us free, 
Shall next return, that sacred feast 
Thou better mayst observe with me. 
With me the sulphurous treason old 

A far inferior part shall hold 
In that glad day's triumphal strain ; 
And generous William be rever'd, 
Nor one untimely accent heard 
Of James, or his ignoble reign. 

v. 
Then, while the Gascon's fragrant wine 
With modest cups our joy supplies, 
We'll truly thank the Power divine 
Who bade the chief, the patriot rise; 



ODES. 137 

Else from heroic ease (the spoil 

Due, for his youth's Herculean toil, 

From Belgium to her saviour-son) 

Bise with the same unconquer'd zeal 

For our Britannia's injured weal, 

Her laws defac'd, her shrines o'erthrown. 

VI. 

He came. The tyrant from our shore, 

Like a forbidden demon, fled ; 

And to eternal exile bore 

Pontific rage and vassal dread. 

There sunk the mouldering Gothic reign : 

New years came forth, a liberal train, 

Call'd by the people's great decree. 

That day, my friend, let blessings crown : 

— Fill, to the demigod's renown 

From whom thou hast that thou art free. 

VII. 

Then, Drake, (for wherefore should we part 
The public and the private weal ?) 
In vows to her who sways thy heart, 
Fair health, glad fortune, will we deal. 
Whether Aglaia's blooming cheek, 
Or the soft ornaments that speak 
So eloquent in Daphne's smile, 
Whether the piercing lights that fly 
From the dark heaven of Myrto's eye, 
Haply thy fancy then beguile. 

VIII. 

For so it is : — thy stubborn breast, 
Though touched by many a slighter wound, 
Hath no full conquest yet confess 'd, 
Nor the one fatal charmer found. 
While I, a true and loyal swain, 
My fair Olympia's gentle reign 
Through all the varying seasons own. 
Her genius still my bosom warms : 
No other maid for me hath charms, 
Or I have eyes for her alone. 



138 AKEKSIDE. 

ODE XIII. 

Otf LTEIC POETET. 1 
I. 1. 

Once more I join the Thespian choir, 
And taste the inspiring fount again : 

parent of the Grecian lyre, 
Admit me to thy powerful strain — 
And lo, with ease my step invades 
The pathless vale and opening shades, 
Till now I spy her verdant seat ; 
And now at large I drink the sound, 
While these her offspring, listening round, 
By turns her melody repeat. 

i. 2. 

1 see Anacreon smile and sing, 
His silver tresses breathe perfume ; 
His cheek displays a second spring 
Of roses, taught by wine to bloom. 
Away, deceitful cares, away, 

And let me listen to his lay ; 

Let me the wanton pomp enjoy, 

While in smooth dance the light-wing'd Hours 

Lead round his lyre its patron powers, 

Kind Laughter and Convivial Joy. 

i. 3. 

Broke from the fetters of his native land, 
Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords, 
With louder impulse, and a threatening hand 
The Lesbian patriot 2 smites the sounding chords : 
Ye wretches, ye perfidious train, 
Ye cursed of gods and free born men, 

1 " I hope I shall not transgress a very sensible observation of Pope, who 
would have a true critic be 

' Still pleas' d to praise, yet not afraid to blame,* 

if I should say, we have lately seen two or three lyric pieces superior to any 
he has left us ; I mean an Ode on Lyric Poetry, and another to Lord Hunt- 
ingdon, by Dr. Akenside." — J. Waeton, Essay^ on Pope, i, 67; and see 
D. Stewart {Philos. Essays, ii. ch. iii.) for some ingenious remarks on the 
emotion of wonder, as an element of the Sublime. — W. 

2 Alcaeus. 



ODES. 139 

Ye murderers of the laws, 
Though now ye glory in your lust, 
Though now ye tread the feeble neck in dust, 
Yet Time and righteous Jove will judge your dreadful 
cause. 

ii. 1. 
But lo, to Sappho's melting airs 
Descends the radiant queen of love : 
She smiles, and asks what fonder cares 
Her suppliant's plaintive measures move : 
Why is my faithful maid distress'd ? 
Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast ? 
Say, flies he ? — Soon he shail pursue : 
Shuns he thy gifts ? — He soon shall give : 
Slights he thy sorrows ? — He shall grieve ; 
And soon to all thy wishes bow. 

ii. 2. 

But, O Melpomene, for whom 
Awakes thy golden shell again ? 
What mortal breath shall e'er presume 
To echo that unbounded strain ? 
Majestic in the frown of years, 
Behold, the man of Thebes 1 appears : 
For some there are, whose mighty frame 
The hand of Jove at birth endow 'd 
With hopes that mock the gazing crowd ; 
As eagles drink the noontide flame, 

ii. 3. 

While the dim raven beats her weary wings, 
And clamours far below. — Propitious Muse, 
While I so late unlock 2 thy purer springs, 
And breathe what e'er thy ancient airs infuse, 
Wilt thou for Albion's sons around 
(Ne'er hadst thou audience more renown'd) 

Thy charming arts employ, 
As when the winds from shore to shore 
Through Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore, 
Till towns and isles and seas return'd the vocal joy ? 

1 Pindar. 

2 Yet Akenside, as we read in Gray's letter to Warton (Sept. 27, 1757)^ 
had criticised " opening a source with a key" in the Ode on the Progress of 
Poetry. 

" Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy, 
This can unlock the gates of joy, 
Of horror that and thrilling fears, 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." — "W. 



140 AKEtfSIDE. 

III. 1. 
Yet then did Pleasure's lawless throng, 
Oft rushing forth in loose attire, 
Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song 
Pollute with impious revels dire. 

fair, O chaste, thy echoing shade 
May no foul discord here invade : 
ISTor let thy strings one accent move, 
Except what earth's untroubled ear 
'Mid all her social tribes may hear, 
And Heaven's unerring throne approve. 

in. 2. 

Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat 
The fairest flowers of Pindus glow ; 
The vine aspires to crown thy seat, 
And myrtles round thy laurel grow. 
Thy strings adapt their varied strain 
To every pleasure, every pain, 
Which mortal tribes were born to prove ; 
And straight our passions rise or fall, 
As at the wind's imperious call 
The ocean swells, the billows move. 

in. 3. 
When midnight listens o'er the slumbering earth, 
Let me, O Muse, thy solemn whispers hear : 
When morning sends her fragrant breezes forth, 
With airy murmurs touch my opening ear. 
And ever watchful at thy side, 
Let Wisdom's awful suffrage guide 

The tenor of thy lay : 
To her of old by Jove was given 
To judge the various deeds of earth and heaven ; 
'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her sway. 

iv. 1. 

Oft as, to well-earn'd ease resign'd, 

1 quit the maze where Science toils, 
Do thou refresh my yielding mind 
With all thy gay, delusive spoils. 
But, O indulgent, come not nigh 
The busy steps, the jealous eye 

Of wealthy care, or gainful age ; 
Whose barren souls thy joys disdain, 
And hold as foes to reason's reign 
Whonie'er thy lovely works engage. 



ODES. 141 

iv. 2. 

When friendship and when letter'd mirth 

Haply partake my simple board, 

Then let thy blameless hand call forth 

The music of the Teian 1 chord. 

Or if invok'd at softer hours, 

O ! seek with me the happy bowers 

That hear Olympia's gentle tongue ; 

To beauty link'd with virtue's train, 

To love devoid of jealous pain, 

There let the Sapphic lute be strung. 

iv. 3. 

But when from envy and from death to claim 
A hero bleeding for his native land ; 
When to throw incense on the vestal flame 
Of Liberty, my genius gives command ; — 

JN"or Theban voice nor Lesbian lyre 

From thee, O ]\luse, do I require ; 
While my presaging mind, 

Conscious of powers she never knew, 
Astonish'd grasps at things beyond her view, 
Nor by another's fate submits to be confin'd. 2 



ODE XIY. 

TO THE HO^OTTBABLE CHAELES TO WIN'S HEIST); 3 
EKOM THE COUNTRY. 



Say, Townshend, what can London boast 
To pay thee for the pleasures lost, 

The health to-day resign'd; 
When Spring from this her favourite seat 
Bade Winter hasten his retreat, 

And met the western wind. 

1 Anacreon. 

2 We are told by Warton [Works of Pope, ii. 73,) that Akenside referred, 
in the last line, to the " Leonidas" of Glover. Mr. Dyce quotes a corre- 
spondent of the Gentleman' s Magazine (October, 1793), " I have proof, 
though it has never been mentioned to the world, that he (Akenside) had 
made some progress in an Epic Poem, the plan of which I know not j the 
title of it was Timoleon." — W. 

3 Townshend died, September 4, 1767, in his forty-first year.— TV, 



142 AKENSIDE. 



II. 



Oh ! knew'st thou how the balmy air, 
The sun, the azure heavens prepare 

To heal thy languid frame, 
No more would noisy courts engage ; 
In vain would lying Faction's rage 

Thy sacred leisure claim. 

in. 
Oft I look'd forth, and oft admir'd ; 
Till, with the studious volume tir'd, 

I sought the open day ; 
6 And sure, (I cried,) the rural gods 
Expect me in their green abodes, 

And chide my tardy lay.' 

iv. 
But ah, in vain my restless feet 
Trac'd every silent shady seat 

Which knew their forms of old : 
Nor Naiad by her fountain laid, 
Nor Wood-nymph tripping through her glade, 

Did now their rites unfold : 



Whether to nurse some infant oak 
They turn the slowly-tinkling brook 

And catch the pearly showers, 
Or brush the mildew from the woods, 
Or paint with noontide beams the buds, 

Or breathe on opening flowers. 

VI. 

Such rites, which they with Spring renew, 
The eyes of care can never view ; 

And care hath long been mine : 
And hence, offended with their guest, 
Since grief of love my soul oppress'd, 

They hide their toils divine. 

VII. 

But soon shall thy enlivening 1 tongue 
This heart, by dear affliction wrung, 

i The epithet is peculiarly well chosen, since Townshend, in the famous 
panegyric by Burke, was declared to be " the charm of every private society 
which he honoured by his presence." This poetical acquaintance was after- 
wards broken off by some cause which is not recorded.— W. 



ODES, 143 

"With noble hope inspire : 
Then will the sylvan powers again 
Receive me in their genial train, 

And listen to my lyre. 

VIII. 

Beneath yon Dryad's lonely shade 
A rnstie altar shall be paid, 

Of tnrf with lanrel fram'd : 
And thou the inscription wilt approve ; 
" This for the peace which, lost by Love, 

By Friendship was reclaim'd." 



ODE XV. 

TO THE EVENINQ STAB. 



To-night retir'd, the queen of heaven 

With young Endymion stays : 
And now to Hesper it is given 
Awhile to rule the vacant sky, 
Till she shall to her lamp supply 
A stream of brighter rays. 

ii. 

O Hesper ! while the starry throng 
With awe thy path surrounds, 

Oh, listen to my suppliant song, 

If haply now the vocal sphere 

Can suffer thy delighted ear 
To stoop to mortal sounds. 

in. 

So may the bridegroom's genial strain 

Thee still invoke to shine ; 
So may the bride's unmarried train 
To Hymen chant their flattering vow, 
Still that his lucky torch may glow 

With lustre pure as thine. 



144 AKENSIDE. 

IV. 

Far other vows must I prefer 

To thy indulgent power. 
Alas ! but now I paid my tear 
On fair Olympia's virgin tomb : 
And lo, from thence, in quest I roam 
Of Philomela's bower. 



Propitious send thy golden ray, 

Thou purest light above : 
Let no false flame seduce to stray 
Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm: 
But lead where music's healing charm 

May soothe afflicted love. 

VI. 
To them, by many a grateful song 

In happier seasons vow'd, 
These lawns, Olympia's haunt, belong : 
Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd, 1 
Or fix'd, while Philomela talk'd, 

Beneath yon copses stood. 

VII. 

Nor seldom, where the beechen boughs 

That roofless tower invade, 
We came while her enchanting Muse 
The radiant moon above us held : 
Till, by a clamorous owl compell'd, 

She fled the solemn shade. 

VIII. 

But hark : I hear her liquid tone. 

Now, Hesper, guide my feet 
Down the red marie with moss o'ergrown, 
Through yon wild thicket next the plain, 
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane 

Which leads to her retreat. 

i With how much sweeter tenderness has Lyttleton uttered the same sen- 
timent, in the monody on his wife : — 

*' In vain I look around 

O'er all the well-known ground, 
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry! 
Where oft we used to walk, 
"Where oft in tender talk, 
We saw the summer sun go down the sky/* 

Gray might well say that if all the poem was like this stanza, he " should 
be excessively pleased." — W. 




< Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd, 
Or fix'd, while Philomela talk'd, 
Beneath yon copses stood."— P. 1*4. 



ODES. 145 



IX. 



See the green space : on either hand 

Enlarg'd it spreads around : 
See, in the midst she takes her stand, 
Where one old oak his awful shade 
Extends o'er half the level mead, 

Inclos'd in woods profound. 

x. 

Hark, how through many a melting note 

She now prolongs her lays : 
How sweetly down the void they float ! 
The breeze their magic path attends : 
The stars shine out : the forest bends : 

The wakeful heifers gaze. 

XI. 

Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring 

To this sequester'd spot, 
If then the plaintive Syren sing, 
Oh, softly tread beneath her bower, 
And think of Heaven's disposing power, 

Of man's uncertain lot. 



Oh, think, o'er all this mortal stage, 

What mournful scenes arise : 
What ruin waits on kingly rage : 
How often virtue dwells with woe : 
How many griefs from knowledge flow ; 
How swiftly pleasure flies. 

XIII. 

O sacred bird, let me at eve, 

Thus wandering ail alone, 
Thy tender counsel oft receive, 
Bear witness to thy pensive airs, 
And pity Nature's common cares, 

Till I forget my own. 



146 AKENSIDE. 

ODE XYI. 

TO CALEB HAEDIKGE, M.D. 1 
I. 

With sordid floods the wintry Urn 2 
Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green : 
Her naked hill the Dryads mourn, 
No longer a poetic scene. 
~No longer there thy raptur'd eye 
The beauteous forms of earth or sky 
Surveys, as in their Author's mind : 
And London shelters from the year 
Those whom thy social hours to share 
The Attic Muse design'd. 

ii. 
From Hampstead's airy summit me 
Her guest the city shall behold, 
"What day the people's stern decree 
To unbelieving kings is told, 
When common men (the dread of fame) 
Adjudg'd as one of evil name, 
Before the sun, the anointed head. 3 
Then seek thou too the pious town, 
With no unworthy cares to crown 
That evening's awful shade. 

in. 
Deem not I call thee to deplore 
The sacred martyr of the day, 
By fast and penitential lore 
To purge our ancient guilt away. 
For this, on humble faith I rest 
That still our advocate, the priest, 
Prom heavenly wrath will save the land : 
Nor ask what rites our pardon gain, 
Nor how his potent sounds restrain 
The thunder er's lifted hand. 

1 For many years physician to King George II. He died in 1776. His 
brother relates a story of Caleb's dispute -with Akenside about a bilious 
colic. Two more inflammable spirits seldom came together; Hardinge 
despising every physician except himself, and Akenside catching fire at a 
word. But, in his peacefuler hours, Hardinge was a delightful companion, 
often bringing "the Attic Muse" to his fireside. See Nichols' Lit. Anec, 
viii. 523, and Illustrations of the Eighteenth Century, iii. 4. — W. 

2 Aquarius. 

3 The allusion is to Charles the First. 



ODES. 147 

IT. 

"No, Hardinge : peace to church and state ! 
That evening, let the Muse give lavr : 
While I anew the theme relate 
Which my first youth enamour' d saw. 
Then will I oft explore thy thought, 
What to reject which Locke hath taught, 
What to pursue in Virgil's lay : 
Till hope ascends to loftiest things, 
Kor envies demagogues or kings 

Their frail and vulgar sway. 
v. 
O vers'd in all the human frame, 
Lead thou where'er my labour lies, 
And English fancy's eager flame 
To Grecian purity chastise : 
While hand in hand, at Wisdom's shrine, 
Beauty with truth I strive to join, 
And grave assent with glad applause ; 
To paint the story of the soul, 
And Plato's visions to control 

By Verulamian 1 laws. 



ODE XVII. 

OS A SEBMOU AGAINST GLORY. 1747. 
I. 

Come then, tell me, sage divine, 

Is it an offence to own 

That our bosoms e'er incline 

Toward immortal Glory's throne ? 

Eor with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, 

Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure, 

So can Fancy's dream rejoice, 

So conciliate Reason's choice, 

As one approving word of her impartial voice. 

11. 

If to spurn at noble praise 

Be the passport to thy heaven, 

Follow thou those gloomy ways ; 

!N"o such law to me was given, 

1 Veralam gave one of his titles to Francis Bacon, author of the " Norum 
Organum." 

L 2 



118 AKENSIDE. 

Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, 
Faring like my friends before me ; 
Nor an holier place desire 
Than Timoleon's arms acquire, 
And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre. 



ODE XVIII. 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ERANCIS EARL 
OE HUNTINGDON. 1747. 

I. 1. 

The wise and great of every clime, 
Through all the spacious walks of Time, 
Where'er the Muse her power display 'd, 
With, joy have listen'd and obey'd. 
For, taught of heaven, the sacred Nine 
Persuasive numbers, forms divine, 

To mortal sense impart : 
They best the soul with, glory fire : 
They noblest counsels, boldest deeds inspire ; 
And high, o'er Fortune's rage enthrone the fixed heart. 

i. 2. 

Nor less prevailing is their charm 

The vengeful bosom to disarm ; 

To melt the proud with human woe, 

And prompt unwilling tears to flow. 

Can wealth a power like this afford? 

Can Cromwell's arts, or Marlborough's sword, 

An equal empire claim ? 
No, Hastings. Thou my words wilt own : 
Thy breast the gifts of every Muse hath known ; 
Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy noble name. 

i. 3. 

The Muse's awful art, 
And the blest function of the poet's tongue, 
Ne'er shalt thou blush to honour ; to assert 
From all that scorned vice, or slavish fear hath sung. 



ODES. 149 

Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings, 
Warbling at will in Pleasure's myrtle bower ; 
JNor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings, 
By nattering minstrels paid in evil hour, 
Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign. 
A different strain, 
And other themes, 
From her prophetic shades and hallow'd streams, 
(Thou well canst witness) meet the purged ear : 
Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell 
Rejoicing listen'd, godlike sounds to hear ; 

To hear the sweet instructress tell 

(While men and heroes throng' d around) 

How life its noblest use may find, 

How well for freedom be resigu'd ; 
And how, by glory, virtue shall be crown'd. 

ii. 1. 
Such was the Chian father's strain 
To many a kind domestic train, 
Whose pious hearth and genial bowl 
Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul : 
When, every hospitable rite 
With equal bounty to requite, 

He struck his magic strings ; 
And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth, 
And seiz'd their ears with tales of ancient worth, 
And fill'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things. 

ii. 2. 

Now oft, where happy spirits dwell. 
Where yet he tunes his charming shell, 
Oft near him, with applauding hands, 
The Genius oi his county stands. 
To listening gods he makes him known, 
That man divine, by whom were sown 

The seeds of Grecian fame : 
Who first the race with freedom fir'd ; 
From whom Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspir'd ; 
From whom Plataean palms and Cyprian trophies came. 1 

i Lycurgus, the Lacedaemonian lawgiver, brought into Greece from Asia 
Minor the first complete copy of Homer's works. At Plat as a was fought the 
decisive battle between the Persian army and the united militia of Greece 
under Pausanias and Aristides. — Cimon the Athenian erected a trophy in 
Cyprus for two great victories gained on the same day over the Persians by 
sea and land. Diodorus Siculus has preserved the inscription which the 
Athenians affixed to the consecrated spoils after this great success ; in which 
it is very remarkable that the greatness of the occasion has raised the 



150 AKENS1DE. 

ii. 3. 

O noblest, happy age ! 

When Aristides ruTd, and Cimon fonght; 

When all the generous fruits of Homer's page 
Exulting Pindar saw to full perfection brought. 
O Pindar, oft shalt thou be hail'd of me : 
"Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine ; 
]N"ot that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee ; 
!Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine, 
Pan danc'd their measure with the sylvan throng : 
But that thy song 
Was proud to unfold 
What thy base rulers trembled to behold ; 
Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell 
The deeds of Athens and the Persian shame : 
Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell. 

But thou, O faithful to thy fame, 

The Muse's law didst rightly know ; 

That who would animate his lays, 

And other minds to virtue raise, 
Must feel his own with all her spirit glow. 1 

manner of expression above the "usual simplicity and modesty of all other 
ancient inscriptions. It is this : — 

EH. OY. r. EYPOIIHN. A2IA2. AIXA, IIONT02. ENEIME. 

KAI. HOAEA2. ©NHTfiN. 0OYPO2. APH2. EIIEXEI. 
OYAEN. HO- TOIOYTON- EIHX©ONmN. TENET'- ANAPON. 

EPTON. EN. HIIEIPm. KAI. RATA. IIONTON. AMA. 
OIAE. TAP. EN. KYIIPai- MHAOY2. IIOAAOY2. OAE2ANTE2* 

$OINIKON. EKATON. NAYS. EAON. EN. nEAATEI. 
ANAPflN. IIAH0OY2A2. META. A'. E2TENEN- A2I2. YH'. AYTfiN. 

nAHTEI2'. AM$OTEPAI2. XEP2I. KPATEI. HOAEMOY. 

The following translation is almost literal : — 

Since first the sea from Asia's hostile coast 

Divided Europe, and the god of war 

Assail' d imperious cities ; never yet, 

At once among the waves and on the shore, 

Hath such a labour been achiev'd by men 

Who earth inhabit. They, whose arms the Medes 

In Cyprus felt pernicious, they, the same, 

Have won from skilful Tyre an hundred ships 

Crowded with warriors. Asia groans, in both 

Her hands sore smitten, by the might of war. 

1 Pindar was contemporary with Aristides and Cimon, in whom the glory 
of ancient Greece was at its height. When Xerxes invaded Greece, Pindar 
was true to the common interest of his country; though his fellow citizens, 
the Thebans, had sold themselves to the Persian king. In one of his odes he 
expresses the great distress and anxiety of his mind, occasioned by the vast 
preparations of Xerxes against Greece. (Isthm. 8.) In another he celebrates 
the victories of Salamis, Platsea, and Himera. {Pyth. 1.) It will be neces- 
sary to add two or three other particulars of his life, real or fabulous, in order 



ODES. 151 

III. 1. 

Are there, approv'd of later times, 
Whose verse adorn'd a tyrant's 1 crimes ? 
"Who saw majestic Home betray 'd, 
And lent the imperial ruffian aid ? 
Alas ! not one polluted bard, 
"No, not the strains that Mincius heard, 

Or Tibur's hills replied, 
Dare to the Muse's ear aspire ; 
Save that, instructed by the Grecian lyre, 
With Freedom's ancient notes their shameful task they 
hide. 

in. 2. 
Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands, 2 
Amid the domes of modern hands : 
Amid the toys of idle state, 
How simply, how severely great ! 
Then turn, and, while each western clime 
Presents her tuneful sons to Time, 
So mark thou Milton's name ; 
And add, " Thus differs from the throng 
The spirit which inform'd thy awful song, 
Which bade thy potent voice protect thy country's 
fame." 

to explain what follows in the text concerning him. First then, he was 
thought to be so great a favourite of Apollo, that the priests of that deity 
allotted him a constant share of their offerings. It was said of him, as of 
some other illustrious men, that at his birth a swarm of bees lighted on his 
lips, and fed him with their honey. It was also a tradition concerning him, 
that Pan was heard to cite his poetry, and seen dancing to one of his hymns 
on a mountain near Thebes. But a real historical fact in his life is, that the 
Thebans imposed a large fine upon him on account of the veneration which he 
expressed in his poems for that heroic spirit, shown by the people of Athens 
in defence of the common liberty, which his own fellow citizens had shame- 
fully betrayed. And, as the argument of this ode implies, that great poetical 
talents, and high sentiments of liberty, do reciprocally produce and assist 
each other, so Pindar is perhaps the most exemplary proof of this connexion 
which occurs in history. The Thebans were remarkable, in general, for 
a slavish disposition through all the fortunes of their commonwealth ; at the 
time of its ruin by Philip ; and even in its best state, under the administra- 
tion of Pelopidas and Epaminondas : and every one knows, they were no less 
remarkable for great dulness, and want of all genius. That Pindar should 
have equally distinguished himself from the rest of his fellow citizens in both 
these respects, seems somewhat extraordinary, and is scarce to be accounted 
for but by the preceding observation. 

1 Octavianus Csesar. 

2 Warton, after quoting Pope's verses, Essay on Criticism, 247, 

" Thus when we view some well proportioned dome," &c, 

remarks — " This is justly and elegantly expressed; and though it may seem 
difficult to speak of the same subject after such a description, yet Akenside 
has ventured, and nobly succeeded : — 

1 Mark, how the dread Pawtheoh stands. 5 " — TV. 



152 AKENSIDE. 

III. 3. 

Yet hence barbaric zeal 1 
His memory with unholy rage pursues ; 
While from these arduous cares of public weal 
She bids each bard begone, and rest him with his Muse. 

fool ! to think the man, whose ample mind 2 
Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey ; 
Must join the noblest forms of every kind, 
The world's most perfect image to display, 
Can e'er his country's majesty behold, 

Unmov'd or cold ! 

O fool ! to deem 
That he, whose thought must visit every theme, 
"Whose heart must every strong emotion know 
Inspir'd by Nature, or by Fortune taught ; 
That he, if haply some presumptuous foe, 

With false ignoble science fraught, 
Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band ; 
That he their dear defence will shun, 
Or hide their glories from the sun, 
Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand ! 

iv. 1. 

1 care not that in Arno's plain, 
Or on the sportive banks of Seine, 
From public themes the Muse's quire 
Content with polish'd ease retire. 
Where priests the studious head command, 
Where tyrants bow the warlike hand 

To vile ambition's aim; 
Say, what can public themes afford, 
Save venal honours to a hateful lord, 
Reserv'd for angry heaven, and scorn'd of honest fame ? 

iv. 2. 

But here, where Freedom's equal throne 
To all her valiant sons is known : 
Where all are conscious of her cares, 3 
And each the power, that rules him shares ; 

1 Alluding to his Defence of the People of England against Salmasius. See 
particularly the manner in which he himself speaks of that undertaking, in 
the introduction to his reply to Morus. 

2 Akenside was introduced by Smollet, in Peregrine Pickle, as the * ode 
writing doctor/ and is thus ridiculed out of his own mouth : — 

" Ofool! to think the man, whose ample mind must grasp whatever yonder 
stars survey." Pray, Mr. Palet, what is your opinion of that image of the 
mind grasping the whole universe ? For my own part, I can't help thinking 
it the most happy conception that ever entered my imagination." — W. 

3 In the first edition — 

" Where all direct the sword she wears." 



ODES. 153 

Here let the bard, whose dastard tongue 
Leaves public arguments unsung, 
Bid public praise farewell : 
Let him to fitter climes remove, 
Far from the hero's and the patriot's love, 
And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell, 

iv. 3. 

O Hastings, not to all 
Can ruling Heaven the same endowments lend : 
Yet still doth Nature to her offspring call, 
That to one general weal their different powers they 
bend, 
Unenvious. Thus alone, though strains divine 
Inform the bosom of the Muse's son ; 
Though with new honours the patrician's line 
Advance from age to age ; yet thus alone 
They win the suffrage of impartial fame. 
The poet's name 
He best shall prove, 
Whose lays the soul with noblest passions move. 
But thee, O progeny of heroes old, 
Thee to severer toils thy fate requires : 
The fate which form'd thee in a chosen mould, 
The grateful country of thy sires, 
Thee to sublimer paths demand ; 
Sublimer than thy sires could trace, 
Or thy own Edward 1 teach his race, 
Tho' Gaul's proud genius sank beneath his hand. 

v. 1. 

Prom rich domains, and subject farms, 
They led the rustic youth to arms ; 
And kings their stern achievements fear'd ; 
While private strife their banners rear'd. 
But loftier scenes to thee are shown, 
Where empire's wide establish'd throne 
No private master fills : 
Where, long foretold, the People reigns : 
Where each a vassal's humble heart disdains : 
And judge th what he sees : and, as he judge th, wills. 
v. 2. 
Here be it thine to calm and guide 
The swelling democratic tide ; 

1 Edward the Third; from whom descended Henry Hastings, third Earl of 
Huntingdon, by the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward 
the Fourth. 



154 AKE^SIDE. 

To watch the state's uncertain frame, 
And baffle Faction's partial aim ; 
But chiefly, with determin'd zeal, 
To quell that servile band, who kneel 

To Freedom's banish'd foes ; 
That monster, which is daily found 
Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound ; 
Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows. 
v. 3. 
'Tis highest Heaven's command, 
That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue ; 
That what ensnares the heart should maim the hand, 
And Virtue's worthless foes be false to glory too, 
But look on Freedom : — see, through every age, 
"What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd ! 
What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage, 
Have her dread offspring conquer'd, or sustain'd ! 
For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the strains 
Of happy swains, 
Which now resound 
Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures bound, 1 
Bear witness : — there, oft let the farmer hail 
The sacred orchard which embowers his gate, 
And show to strangers passing down the vale, 
Where Candish, Booth, and Osborne sate; 
When bursting from their country's chain, 
Even in the midst of deadly harms, 
Of papal snares and lawless arms, 
They plann'd for Freedom this her noblest reign. 

vi. 1. 

This reign, these laws, this public care, 
W r hich Nassau gave us all to share, 
Had ne'er adorn'd the English name, 
Could Fear have silenc'd Freedom's claim. 
But Fear in vain attempts to bind 
Those lofty efforts of the mind, 

Which social good inspires : 
Where men, for this, assault a throne, 
Each adds the common welfare to his own ; 
And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all acquires. 

1 At Whittington, a Tillage on the edge of Scarsdale in Derby shire, the 
Earls of Devonshire and Danby, with the Lord Delamere, privately concerted 
the plan of the Eevolution. The honse in which they met is at present a 
farm-house, and the country people distinguish the room where they sat by 
the name of the plotting parlour. — Note by Akenside. 



ODES. 155 

vi. 2. 

Say, was it thus, when late we view'd 
Our fields in civil blood inibru'd ? 
When fortune crown'd the barbarous host, 
And half the astonish'd isle was lost ? 
Did one of all that vaunting train, 
Who dare affront a peaceful reign, 
Durst one in arms appear ? 
Durst one in counsels pledge his life ? 
Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife ? 
Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to cheer ? 

vi. 3. 

Yet, Hastings, these are they 

Who challenge to themselves thy country's love ; 

The true ; the constant : who alone can weigh, 
What glory should demand, or liberty approve ! 

But let their works declare them. Thy free powers, 

The generous powers of thy prevailing mind, 

Not for the tasks of their confederate hours, 

Lewd brawls and lurking slander, were design'd. 

Be thou thy own approver. Honest praise 
Oft nobly sways 
Ingenuous youth : 

But, sought from cowards and the lying mouth, 

Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone 

For mortals nxeth that sublime award ! 

He, from the faithful records of his throne, 
Bids the historian and the bard 

Dispose of honour and of scorn ; 

Discern the patriot from the slave ; 

And write the good, the wise, the brave, 
For lessons to the multitude unborn. 



158 AKEFSIDE. 

BOOK II. 
ODE I. 

THE REMONSTRANCE OF SHAKESPEARE: 

SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, WHILE 
THE FRENCH COMEDIANS WERE ACTING BY SUBSCRIPTION. 1749. 

If, yet regardful of your native land, 
Old Shakespeare's tongue you deign to understand, 
Lo, from the blissful bowers, where heaven rewards 
Instructive sages and unblemish'd bards, 
I come, the ancient founder of the stage, 
Intent to learn, in this discerning age, 
What form of wit your fancies have embrac'd, 
And whither tends your elegance of taste, 
That thus at length our homely toils you spurn, 
That thus to foreign scenes you proudly turn, 
That from my brow the laurel wreath you claim, 
To crown the rivals of your country's fame, 

What, though the footsteps of my devious Muse 
The measur'd walks of Grecian art refuse ? 
Or though the frankness of my hardy style 
Mock the nice touches of the critic's file ? 
Yet, what my age and climate held to view, 
Impartial I survey'd, and fearless drew. 
And say, ye skilful in the human heart, 
Who know to prize a poet's noblest part, 
What age, what clime, could e'er an ampler field 
For lofty thought, for daring fancy, yield ? 
I saw this England break the shameful bands 
Forg'd for the souls of men by sacred hands : 
I saw each groaning realm her aid implore ; 
Her sons the heroes of each warlike shore : 
Her naval standard (the dire Spaniard's bane) 
Obey'd through all the circuit of the main. 
Then too, great Commerce, for a late found world, 
Around your coast her eager sails unfurl'd : 
New hopes, new passions, thence the bosom fir'd ; 
New plans, new arts, the genius thence inspir'd ; 
Thence every scene, which private fortune knows, 
In stronger life, with bolder spirit, rose. 



ODES. 157 

Disgrac'd I tliis full prospect which I drew ? 
My colours languid, or my strokes untrue ? 
Have not your sages, warriors, swains, and kings, 
Confess'd the living draught of men and things ? 
What other bard in any clime appears, 
Alike the master of your smiles and tears ? 
Yet have I deign'd your audience to entice 
With wretched bribes to luxury and vice ? 
Or have my various scenes a purpose known 
Which freedom, virtue, glory, might not own ? 

Such from the first was my dramatic plan ; 
It should be yours to crown what I began : 
And now that England spurns her Gothic chain, 
And equal laws and social science reign, 
I thought, ' Now surely shall my zealous eyes, 
View nobler bards and juster critics rise, 
Intent with learned labour to refine 
The copious ore of Albion's native mine, 
Our stately Muse more graceful airs to teach, 
And form her tongue to more attractive speech, 
Till rival nations listen at her feet, 
And own her polish'd, as they own her great.' 

But do you thus my favourite hopes fulfil ? 
Is Prance at last the standard of your skill ? 
Alas, for you ! that so betray a mind 
Of art unconscious, and to beauty blind. 
Say ; does her language your ambition raise, 
Her barren, trivial, unharmonious phrase, 
Which fetters eloquence to scantiest bounds, 
And maims the cadence of poetic sounds r 
Say ; does your humble admiration choose 
The gentle prattle of her Comic Muse, 1 
While wits, plain-dealers, fops, and fools appear, 
Charg'd to say nought but what the king may hear ? 
Or rather melt your sympathising hearts, 
Won by her tragic scene's romantic arts, 
Where old and young declaim on soft desire, 
And heroes never, but for love, expire ? 

No. Though the charms of novelty, awhile, 
Perhaps too fondly win your thoughtless smile, 

1 Akenside, in his ingenious paper, c The Table of Modern Fame,' which he 
contributed to Dodsley's Museum, speaks with respect of Moliere — who is 
shown advancing "from the French entrance," and disputing the chair, 
which Cervantes had taken, " with infinite pleasantry and good humour." In 
a former part of the essay — " Boileau, a tall, slender man in a large wig, 
with a very fine sneer on his face," is made to resign his place in favour of 
Pope. Akenside said that two hammers produce as much music as a French 
couplet. — W. 



158 AKE^SIDE. 

Yet not for you design'd indulgent fate 

The modes or manners of the Bourbon state. 

And ill jour minds my partial judgment reads, 

And many an augury my hope misleads, 

If the fair maids of yonder blooming train 

To their light courtship would an audience deign, 

Or those chaste matrons a Parisian wife 

Choose for the model of domestic life ; 

Or if one youth of all that generous band, 

The strength and splendour of their native land, 

Would yield his portion of his country's fame, 

And quit old freedom's patrimonial claim, 

With lying smiles oppression's pomp to see, 

And judge of glory by a king's decree. 

O blest at home with justly-envied laws, 
O long the chiefs of Europe's general cause, 
Whom Heaven hath chosen at each dangerous hour 
To check the inroads of barbaric power, 
The rights of trampled nations to reclaim, 
And guard the social world from bonds and shame ; 
Oh, let not luxury's fantastic charms 
Thus give the lie to your heroic arms : 
Nor, for the ornaments of life, embrace 
Dishonest lessons from that vaunting race, 
Whom fate's dread laws (for, in eternal fate 
Despotic rule was heir to freedom's hate) 
Whom in each warlike, each commercial part, 
In civil council, and in pleasing art, 
The judge of earth predestin'd for your foes, 
And made it fame and virtue to oppose. 



ODE II. 

TO SLEEP. 



I. 

Thou silent power, whose welcome sway 
Charms every anxious thought away ; 
In whose divine oblivion drown' d, 
Sore pain and weary toil grow mild, 
Love is with kinder looks beguil'd, 

And grief forgets her fondly cherish'd wound ; 

Oh, whither hast thou flown, indulgent god ? 

G-od of kind shadows and of healing dews, 

Whom dost thou touch with thy Lethsean rod ? 
Around whose temples now thy opiate airs diffuse ? 



ODES. 159 

II. 
Lo, Midnight from her starry reign 
Looks awful down on earth and main ; 
The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep, 
"With all that crop the verdant food, 
With all that skim the crystal flood, 
Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep. 
No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers ; 
No wakeful sound the moonlight valley knows, 
Save where the brook its liquid murmur pours, 
And lulls the waving scene to more profound repose. 1 
in. 
Oh, let not me alone complain, 
Alone invoke thy power in vain ! 
Descend, propitious, on my eyes ; 
Not from the couch that bears a crown, 
Not from the courtly statesman's down, 
Nor where the miser and his treasure lies : 
Bring not the shapes that break the murderer's rest, 
Nor those the hireling soldier loves to see, 
Nor those which haunt the bigot's gloomy breast : 
Par be their guilty nights, and far their dreams from 
me ! 

IV. 

Nor yet those awful forms present, 

For chiefs and heroes only meant : 

The figur'd brass, the choral song, 

The rescued people's glad applause, 

The listening senate, and the laws 
Fix'd by the counsels of Timoleon's 2 tongue, 
Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways ; 
And though they shine in youth's ingenuous view, 
The sober gainful arts of modern days 
To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu. 

1 This beautiful line recals the most exquisite stanza in Beattie's poem 
on ' Retirement, 5 which was written when he was schoolmaster of Ferdoun, 
at the foot of the Grampian hills . Not far from his dwelling a deep and 
woody glen ran up into the mountains. This was his favourite haunt, and 
there, he said, he drew from nature the admirable description of the owl : — 

c Where the scared owl, on pinions grey, 

Breaks from the rustling boughs, 
And down the lone vale sails away 
To more profound repose.' 
The resemblance of the last verse to Akenside is very remarkable ; Beattie's 
volume, containing the ' Ode on Retirement,' was published in February, 
1761.— W. 

2 After Timoleon had delivered Syracuse from the tyranny of Dionysius, 
the people on every important deliberation sent for him into the public 
assembly, asked his advice, and voted according to it. — Plutarch. 



160 AKESTSIDE. 



I ask not, god of dreams, thy care 
To banish Love's presentments fair : 
"Nor rosy cheek, nor radiant eye, 
Can arm him with such strong command, 
That the young sorcerer's fatal hand 
Should round my soul his pleasing fetters tie. 
JN"or yet the courtier's hope, the giving smile 
(A lighter phantom, and a baser chain,) 
Did e'er in slumber my proud lyre beguile 
To lend the pomp of thrones her ill-according strain. 

VI. 

But, Morpheus, on thy balmy wing 

Such honourable visions bring, 

As sooth'd great Milton's injur'd age, 

"When in prophetic dreams he saw 

The race unborn with pious awe 
Imbibe each virtue from his heavenly page : 
Or such as Mead's 1 benignant fancy knows 
When health's deep treasures, by his art explor'd, 
Have sav'd the infant from an orphan's woes, 
Or to the trembling sire his age's hope restor'd. 



ODE III. 

TO THE CUCKOO. 



O eustic herald of the Spring, 
At length in yonder woody vale 
Fast by the brook I hear thee sing ; 
And, studious of thy homely tale, 
Amid the vespers of the grove, 
Amid the chanting choir of love, 
Thy sage responses hail. 

ii. 
The time has been when I have frown'd 
To hear thy voice the woods invade ; 
And while thy solemn accent drown'd 
Some sweeter poet of the shade, 

1 The poet gives the good doctor's biography in a word. Freind was the 
great physician of the Tories, Mead of the Whigs. When Freind was sent to 
the Tower, Mead attended his patients, and gave back to him the fees.— W. 



ODES. 161 

Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care 
Some constant youth, or generous fair, 
With dull advice upbraid. 

in. 

I said, " While Philomela's song 
Proclaims the passion of the grove, 
It ill beseems a Cuckoo's tongue 
Her charming language to reprove"— 
Alas, how much a lover's ear 
Hates all the sober truth to hear, 
The sober truth of love ! 

IV. 

When hearts are in each other bless'd, 
When nought but lofty faith can rule 
The nymph's and swain's consenting breast, 
How cuckoo-like in Cupid's school, 
With store of grave prudential saws 
On fortune's power and custom's laws, 
Appears each friendly fool ! 

v. 

Yet think betimes, ye gentle train 
Whom love and hope and fancy sway, 
Who every harsher care disdain, 
Who by the morning judge the day, 
Think that, in April's fairest hours, 
To warbling shades and painted flowers 
The Cuckoo joins his lay. 



ODE IY. 

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND 
IN THE COUNTRY. 1750. 1 

I. 1. 

How oft shall I survey 
This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade, 

The vale with sheaves o'er spread, 
The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray ? 

1 Townshend had become a member of the House of Commons in 1747; he 
died of a putrid fever, about three years earlier than his panegyrist. The 
poetical praise of Akenside melts before the gorgeous declamation of Burke : 
— * Then, sir, before this splendid orb was entirely set, and while the 

il 



162 AKEKSIDE. 

When will thy cheerful mind 
Of these have utter' d all her dear esteem ? 

Or, tell me, dost thou deem 
No more to join in glory's toilsome race, 

But here content embrace 
That happy leisure which thou hadst resign'd ? 

I. 2. 

Alas, ye happy hours, 
When books and youthful sport the soul could share, 

Ere one ambitious care 
Of civil life had aw'd her simple powers ; 

Oft as your winged train 
Hevisit here my friend in white array, 

Oh, fail not to display 
Each fairer scene where I perchance had part, 

That so his generous heart 
The abode of even friendship may remain. 



For not imprudent of my loss to come, 
I saw from Contemplation's quiet cell 
His feet ascending to another home, 
Where public praise and envied greatness dwell. 
But shall we therefore, O my lyre, 
Heprove ambition's best desire ? 
Extinguish glory's flame ? 
Ear other was the task injoin'd, 
When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd ; 
Ear other faith belongs to friendship's honour'd 



Thee, Townshend, not the arms 
Of slumbering Ease, nor Pleasure's rosy chain, 

Were destin'd to detain : 
No, nor bright Science, nor the Muse's charms. 

Eor them high Heaven prepares 
Their proper votaries, an humbler band : 

And ne'er would Spenser's hand 
Have deign 'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell, 

Nor Harrington to tell 
What habit an immortal city wears. 

western horizon was in a blaze with his descending glory, on the opposite 
quarter of the heaven, arose another luminary, and for his hour became lord 
of the ascendant. 5 The 'orb' was Chatham, and the 'luminary' was Towns- 
hend.— W. 



ODES. 163 

ii. 2. 

Had this been born to shield 
The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd, 

Or that, like Vere, display'd 
His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field. 

Yet where the will divine 
Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains, 

With reason clad in strains 
Of harmony, selected minds to inspire, 

And virtue's living fire 
To feed and eternize 1 in hearts like thine. 

ii. 3. 

For never shall the herd, whom envy sways, 
So quell my purpose, or my tongue control, 
That I should fear illustrious worth to praise, 
Because its master's friendship moved my soul. 
Yet, if this undissembling strain 
Should now perhaps thine ear detain 

With any pleasing sound, 
Remember thou that righteous Fame 
From hoary age a strict account will claim 
Of each auspicious palm, with which thy youth was 
crown' d. 

in. 1. 
]N"or obvious is the way 
Where heaven expects thee, nor the traveller leads, 

Through flowers or fragrant meads, 
Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay. 

The impartial laws of fate 
To nobler virtues wed severer cares. 

Is there a man who shares 
The summit next where heavenly natures dwell ? 

Ask him (for he can tell) 
What storms beat round that rough laborious height. 

in. 2. 

Ye heroes, who of old 
Did generous England Freedom's throne ordain ; 

From Alfred's parent reign 
To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold ; 

I know your perils hard, 

i So Milton :— 

" I might relate of thousands, and their names 
Eternize here on earth." 

Par. Lost, vi. 374.— W. 
M 2 



164 AKENSIDE. 

Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas, 

The night estrang'd from ease, 
The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd, 

The head with doubt perplex' d, 
The indignant heart disdaining the reward 

in. 3. 
Which envy hardly grants. But, O renown ! 
O praise from judging Heaven and virtuous men ! 
If thus they purchas'd thy divinest crown, 
Say, who shall hesitate? or who complain? 

And now they sit on thrones above : 

And when among the gods they move 
Before the Sovereign Mind, 

"Lo, these," he saith, " lo, these are they 
Who, to the laws of mine eternal sway, 
Prom violence and fear asserted human kind." 

iv. 1. 

Thus honour'd while the train 
Of legislators in his presence dwell ; 

If I may aught foretell, 
The statesman shall the second palm obtain. 

For dreadful deeds of arms 
Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise, 

More glittering trophies raise : 
But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move 

To favour and to love ? 
What, save wide blessings, or averted harms ? 

iv. 2. 

Nor to the embattled field 
Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown 

The green immortal crown 
Of valour, or the songs of conquest, yield. 

Not Fairfax wildly bold, 
While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way, 

Through Naseby's firm array, 
To heavier dangers did his breast oppose 

Than Pym's free virtue chose, 
When the proud force of Strafford he controll'd. 

iv. 3. 

But what is man at enmity with truth ? 
What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious mind 

When (blighted all the promise of his youth) 
The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd ? 
Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains, 
Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swains, 



ODES. 165 

Let menac'd London tell 
How impious guile made wisdom base ; 
How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place ; 
And how unbless'd he lived, and how dishonour'd fell. 

v. 1. 

Thence never hath the Muse 
Around his tomb Pierian roses flung : 

jN"or shall one poet's tongue 
His name for music's pleasing labour choose. 

And sure, when Isature kind 
Hath deck'd some favour'd breast above the throng, 

That man with grievous wrone 
Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends 

To guilt's ignoble ends 
The functions of his ill- submitting mind. 



For worthy of the wise 
Nothing can seem but virtue ; nor earth yield 

Their fame an equal field, 
Save where impartial Freedom gives the prize. 

There Somers fixed his name, 1 
Inroll'd the next to William. There shall Time 

To every wondering clime 
Point out that Somers, who from faction's crowd, 

The slanderous and the loud, 
Could fair assent and modest reverence claim. 

v. 3. 

Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire, 
Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land 
Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire, 
Without his guidance, his superior hand. 
And rightly shall the Muse's care 
Wreaths like her own for him prepare, 

* A poet could scarcely find a fitter theme for his panegyric than the 
character of the chancellor Somers ; the patron of a dead Milton and a 
living Addison ; and who sat for his portrait, with the poem of Spenser in 
his hand. "Walpole has painted him with even more than the common 
grace of his pencil, in the Catalogue of > oble Authors. ' He was one of those 
divine men, who, like a chapel in a palace, remain unprofaned, whilst all the 
rest is tyranny, corruption, and folly. All the traditionary accounts of him, 
and the historians of the last age, represent him as the most incorrupt 
lawyer, and the honestest statesman ; as a master orator, a genius of the 
finest taste, and as a patriot of the noblest and most extensive views; as a 
man who dispensed blessings by his life and planned them for posterity/ 
Evelyn records the beauty of his style and conversation : and Swift uninten- 
tionally praised his method and good sense, in saying that his profession and 
humble birth ■ had taught him the regularity of an alderman 3 or a gentleman 
usher.'— W. 



166 AKENSIDE. 

Whose mind's enamour'd aim 
Could forms of civil beauty draw, 
Sublime as ever sage or poet saw, 
Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame. 

vi. 1. 

Let none profane be near ! 
The Muse was never foreign to his breast : 

On power's grave seat confess'd, 
Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear. 

And if the blessed know 
Their ancient cares, ev'n now the unfading groves, 

Where haply Milton roves 
With Spenser, hear the enchanted echoes round 

Through farthest heaven resound 
Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below. 

vi. 2. 

He knew, the patriot knew, 
That letters and the Muse's powerful art 

Exalt the ingenuous heart, 
And brighten every form of just and true. 

They lend a nobler sway 
To civil wisdom, than Corruption's lure 

Could ever yet procure : 
They too from envy's pale malignant light 

Conduct her forth to sight, 
Clothed in the fairest colours of the day. 

vi. 3. 

O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe, 
Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell : 
And when I speak of one, to Freedom clear 
For planning wisely and for acting well, 

Of one whom G-lory loves to own, 

Who still by liberal means alone 
Hath liberal ends pursu'd ; 

Then, for the guerdon of my lay, 
" This man with faithful friendship," will I say, 
" From youth to honour' d age my arts and me hath 

view'd." 



ODES. 167 



ODE V. 

OK LOYE OE PEAISE. 



Of all the springs within the mind 

Which prompt her steps in Fortune's maze, 

From none more pleasing aid we find, 
Than from the genuine love of praise. 

ii. 

Nor any partial, private end 

Such reverence to the public bears ; 

IN" or any passion, Virtue's friend, 
So like to Virtue's self appears. 

in. 

For who in glory can delight, 

Without delight in glorious deeds ? 

What man a charming voice can slight, 
Who courts the echo that succeeds ? 

IV. 

But not the echo on the voice 

More, than on virtue praise depends ; 

To which, of course, its real price 
The judgment of the praiser lends. 

v. 

If praise then with religious awe 

From the sole perfect Judge be sought, 

A nobler aim, a purer law, 

Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught. 

VI. 

With which, in character the same, 
Though in an humbler sphere it lies, 

I count that soul of human fame, 
The suffrage of the good and wise. 



168 AKENSIDE. 



ODE VI. 



TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQTJIEE ; WITH THE WOEKS 
OE CHATJLIETJ. 1 



Attend to Chaulieu's wanton lyre ; 
While, fluent as the sky-lark sings 
When first the morn allures its wings, 
The epicure his theme pursues : 
And tell me if, among the choir 
"Whose music charms the banks of Seine, 
So full, so free, so rich a strain 
E'er dictated the warbling Muse. 

ii. 

Yet Hall, while thy judicious ear 
Admires the well -dissembled art, 
That can such harmony impart 
To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes ; 
While wit from affectation clear, 
Bright images, and passions true, 
Hecal to thy assenting view 
The envied bards of nobler times : 

in. 

Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong ? 
This priest of Pleasure, who aspires 
To lead us to her sacred fires, 
Knows he the ritual of her shrine ? 
Say (her sweet influence to thy song 
So may the goddess still afford) 
Doth she consent to be ador'd 
With shameless love and frantic wine ? 

i Hall was a fellow of King's College, and obtained the office of Solicitor 
to the Post Office, and deputy clerk of the Pells. A certain dignity of man- 
ner won for him the title of ' Prince Hall.' The most pleasing feature of his 
life is the attachment of the scholar Jeremiah Markland. The end of Hall 
was deeply mournful. George Hardinge, who knew him well, says that his 
insanity began with imbecility, advanced into idiotcy, and closed in delirium. 
Chaulieu, whose works were presented by Akenside, belonged to the race of 
tuneful gentlemen who are found in all poetical collections. The literary 
merits of his verses offer a very slight apology for their impurities. He died 
at Paris in 1720— W. 



ODES, 169 

IV. 

Nor Cato, nor Chrysippus here 
Need we, in high indignant phrase, 
From their Elysian quiet raise ; 
But Pleasure's oracle alone 
Consult ; attentive, not severe. 
O Pleasure, we blaspheme not thee ; 
Nor emulate the rigid knee 
"Which bends but at the Stoic throne. 

v. 

We own had fate to man assign'd 
Nor sense, nor wish but what obey 
Or Venus soft, or Bacchus gay, 
Then might our bard's voluptuous creed 
Most aptly govern human kind ; 
Unless perchance what he hath sung 
Of tortur'd joints and nerves unstrung, 
Some wrangling heretic should plead. 

VI. 

But now with all these proud desires 
[For dauntless truth and honest fame : 
With that strong master of our frame, 
The inexorable judge within, 
WTiat can be done ? Alas, ye fires 
Of love ; alas, ye rosy smiles, 
Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils, 
— Ye have no bribe his grace to win. 



ODE VII. 



TO THE EIGHT EEVEREKD BENJAMIN LOED 
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 1754. 

I. 1. 

Foe toils which patriots have endur'd, 

For treason quell'd and laws secur'd, 

In every nation Time displays 

The palm of honourable praise. 
Envy may rail ; and Faction fierce 

May strive ; but what, alas, can those 

(Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes,) 

To Gratitude and Love oppose, 
To faithful story and persuasive verse ? 



170 AKENSIDE. 

I. 2. 

O nurse of Freedom, Albion, say, 
Thou tamer of despotic sway, 
What man, among thy sons around, 
Thus heir to glory hast thou found ? 
What page, in all thy annals bright, 
Hast thou with purer joy survey 'd 
Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid, 
Shines through imposture's solemn shade, 
Through kingly and through sacerdotal night ? 

i. 3. 

To Him the Teacher bless'd, 
Who sent religion, from the palmy field 
By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, 
And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth 
conceal'd, 
To Hoadly thus his mandate He address'd : * 
" Gro thou, and rescue my dishonoured law 
From hands rapacious and from tongues impure : 
Let not my peaceful name be made a lure 
Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid : 
Let not my words be impious chains to draw 
The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe, 
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid." 

ii. 1. 
No cold or unperforming hand 
Was arm'd by Heaven with this command. 
The world soon felt it : and, on high, 
To William's ear with welcome joy 
Did Locke among the blest unfold 2 
The rising hope of Hoadly's name ; 
Godolphin then confirm'd the fame ; 
And Somers, when from earth he came, 
And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told. 

1 Unbecoming and blasphemous as these lines are, they do not surpass in 
folly a compliment which Sir Bichard Steele communicated to the same 
bishop in a letter. ' Coming home the other night, after your great con- 
descension in liking such pleasures as I entertained your lordship with, I 
made the distich, which you will find if you turn over the leaf : — 

Virtue with so much ease on Bangor sits, 

All faults he pardons though he none commits/ — W. 

2 Mr. Locke died in 1704, when Mr. Hoadly was beginning to distinguish 
himself in the cause of civil and religious liberty : Lord Godolphin in 1712, 
when the doctrines of the Jacobite faction were chiefly favoured by those in 
power : Lord Somers in 1716, amid the practices of the nonjuring^ clergy 
against the Protestant establishment : and Lord Stanhope in 1721, during the 
controversy with the lower house of convocation. 



ODES. 171 

II. 2. 

Then drew the lawgivers around, 
(Sires of the Grecian name renown'd) 
And listening ask'd, and wondering knew, 
What private force could thus subdue 
The vulgar and the great comb in' d ; 
Could war with sacred folly wage ; 
Could a whole nation disengage 
From the dread bonds of many an age, 
And to new habits mould the public mind. 

ii. 3. 

For not a conqueror's sword, 
Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, 
Were his : but truth by faithful search explor'd, 
And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. 
Wherever it took root, the soul (restor'd 
To freedom) freedom too for others sought. 
Not monkish craft the tyrant's claim divine, 
Not regal zeal the bigot's cruel shrine 
Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage ; 
Not the wild rabble to sedition wrought, 
Nor synods by the papal G-enius taught, 
Nor St. John's 1 spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage. 2 

in. 1. 

But where shall recompense be found ? 
Or how such arduous merit crown'd? 
For look on life's laborious scene : 
What rugged spaces lie between 
Adventurous Virtue's early toils, 
And her triumphal throne ! The shade 
Of death, mean time, does oft invade 
Her progress ; nor, to us display'd, 
Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils. 

in. 2. 

Yet born to conquer is her power : 
— O Hoadly, if that favourite hour 

1 Lord Bolingbroke. 
2 The c rage' of Atterbury was not a mere invention of the poet ; his 
fiery temper was continually bursting forth, and justified the pleasant lamen- 
tation of Smalridge, his successor at Christ Church, that he was forced to 
carry a bucket with him, to extinguish the flames which the former Dean 
had kindled. Even Pope must have been struck with the lesson, as well as 
the compliment of his ' softer hour.' But Atterbury's ' rage, 5 in the eyes of 
Akenside, was confined to his conduct respecting the convocation, and the 
controversy with Hoadly, whom Atterbury, with the irony of Twickenham 
in his pen, had styled 'the modest and moderate Mr. Hoadly.' — "W. 



172 AKENSIDE. 

On earth arrive, with thankful awe 
We own just Heaven's indulgent law, 
And proudly thy success behold ; 
We attend thy reverend length of days 1 
With benediction and with praise, 
And hail thee in our public ways 
Like some great spirit fam'd in ages old. 

in. 3. 

While thus our vows prolong 
Thy steps on earth, and when by us resign' d 
Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng 
Who rescu'd or preserv'd the rights of human kind, 
O ! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue 
Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name : 
O ! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes, 
May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize 
Make public virtue, public freedom vile ; 
Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim 
That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame, 
Which thou hast kept entire from force and factious 
guile. 



ODE VIII. 



If rightly tuneful bards decide, 
If it be fix'd in Love's decrees, 

That Beauty ought not to be tried 
But by its native power to please, 

Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell, 

What fair can Amoret excel ? 

II. 

Behold that bright unsullied smile, 
And wisdom speaking in her mien : 

Yet (she so artless all the while, 
So little studious to be seen,) 

We nought but instant gladness know, 

Nor think to whom the gift we owe. 

1 Hoadly was born 1676, died 1761 .— W. 



ODES. 173 

III. 
But neither music, nor the powers 

Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, 
Add half that sunshine to the hours, 

Or make life's prospect half so clear, 
As memory brings it to the eye 
Prom scenes where Amoret was by. 

IV. 

Yet not a satirist could there 

Or fault or indiscretion find ; 
Nor any prouder sage declare 

One virtue pictur'd in his mind, 
Whose form with lovelier colours glows 
Than Amoret' s demeanor shows. 



This sure is Beauty's happiest part : 
This gives the most unbounded sway : 

This shall enchant the subject heart, 
When rose and lily fade away ; 

And she be still, in spite of time, 

Sweet Amoret in all her prime. 



ODE IX. 

AT STUDY. 



Whither did my fancy stray? 
By what magic drawn away 

Have I left my studious theme ? 
From this philosophic page, 
Prom the problems of the sage, 

Wandering through a pleasing dream ? 

ii. 

'Tis in vain, alas ! I find, 
Much in vain, my zealous mind 

Would to learned Wisdom's throne 
Dedicate each thoughtful hour : 
Nature bids a softer power 

Claim some minutes for his own. 



174 AKEKSIDE. 

III. 

Let the busy or the wise 

View him with contemptuous eyes ; 

Love is native to the heart : 
Guide its wishes as you will ; 
Without Love you'll find it still 

Void in one essential part. 

IV. 

Me though no peculiar fair 
Touches with a lover's care ; 

Though the pride of my desire 
Asks immortal friendship's name, 
Asks the palm of honest fame, 

And the old heroic lyre ; 
v. 
Though the day have smoothly gone, 
Or to letter'd leisure known, 

Or in social duty spent ; 
Yet at eve my lonely breast 
Seeks in vain for perfect rest ; 

Languishes for true content. 



ODE X. 

TO THOMAS EDWAKDS, ESQ.; OK THE LATE EDXTIOK 

OE MR pope's WOEKS. 1751. 1 

I. 

Believe me, Edwards, to restrain 
The license of a railer's tongue 
Is what but seldom men obtain 
By sense or wit, by prose or song ; 
A task for more Herculean powers, 
]N"or suited to the sacred hours 
Of leisure in the Muse's bowers. 

1 By Warburton, against whom Edwards wrote his once famous and still 
remembered Canons of Criticism. Boswell relates that, soon after the 
publication of that book, Johnson happened to dine with Tonson, and when 
the company praised Edwards, the Doctor admitted his merit, but checked 
the attempt to "pit" him against Warburton. "]N"ay, he has given him 
some hard hits, to be sure ; but there is no proportion between the two men ; 
they must not be named together. A fly may sting a stately horse, and 
make him. wince ; but one is an insect, the other is a horse still." Un- 
doubtedly the " Canons" are very acute, and the style is bold and slashing. 
The Bishop himself might have written the following passage : — "And now 
I hope I have taken leave of Mr. Warburton and his works; unless, 
to complete the massacre of our best English poets, he should take it 
into his head to murder Spenser as he did Shakspere, and, in part, Milton 
also." — W. 



I 



ODES. 175 

II. 
In bowers where laurel weds with palm, 
The ]\luse, the blameless queen, resides ; 
Fair Fame attends, and "Wisdom calm 
Her eloquence harmonious guides : 
While, shut for ever from her gate 
Oft trying, still repining, wait 
Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate. 

in. 
WTio then from her delightful bounds 
Would step one moment forth, to heed 
What impotent and savage sounds 
From their unhappy mouths proceed ? 
No : rather Spenser's lyre again 
Prepare, and let thy pious strain 
For Pope's dishonour'd shade complain. 

IV. 

Tell how displeas'd was every bard, 
When lately in the Elysian grove 
They of his Muse's guardian heard, 
His delegate to fame above ; 
And what with one accord they said 
Of wit in drooping age misled, 
And Warburton's officious aid : x 

v. 

How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate 
To that melodious lyre assign'd, 
Beneath a tutor, who so late 
With Midas and his rout combin'd 
By spiteful clamour to confound 
That very lyre's enchanting sound, 
Tho' listening realms admir'd around : 

VI. 

How Horace own'd he thought the fire 
Of his friend Pope's satiric line 
Did farther fuel scarce require 
From such a militant divine : 

1 During Mr. Pope's war with Theobald, Concanen, and the rest of their 
tribe, Mr. Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester, did with great 
zeal cultivate their friendship ; having been introduced, forsooth, at the 
meetings of that respectable confederacy; a favour which he afterwards 
spoke of in very high terms of complacency and thankfulness. At the same 
time in his intercourse with them, he treated Mr. Pope in a most con- 
temptuous manner, and as a writer without genius. Of the truth of these 
assertions his lordship can have no doubt, if he recollects his own corre- 
spondence with Concanen ; a part of which is still in being, and will pro- 
bably be remembered as long as any of this prelate's writings. 



176 AKENSIDE. 

How Milton scorn 'd the sophist vain, 
Who durst approach his hallow'd strain 
With unwash'd hands and lips profane. 

VII. 

Then Shakespeare debonair and mild 
Brought that strange comment forth to view ; 
Conceits more deep, he said, and smil'd, 
Than his own fools or madmen knew : 
But thank'd a generous friend above, 
Who did with free adventurous love 
Such pageants from his tomb remove. 

VIII. 

And if to Pope, in equal need, 
The same kind office thou wouldst pay, 
Then, Edwards, all the band decreed 
That future bards with frequent lay 
Should call on thy auspicious name, 
From each absurd intruder's claim 
To keep inviolate their fame. 



ODE XI. 

TO THE COTJNTET GENTLEMEN OE EtfGLAKD. 1758. 1 

I. 

Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled ? 
Where are those valiant tenants of her shore, 
Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped, 
Or with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore ? 
Ereeman and Soldier was their common name. 
Who late with reapers to the furrow came, 
Now in the front of battle charg'd the foe : 
Who taught the steer the wintry plough to endure, 
ISTow in full councils check'd encroaching power, 
And gave the guardian Laws their majesty to know. 

1 The Ode to the Country Gentlemen is unequal; but has noble and 
glorious passages in it. Mr. Elliott, father of Lord Minto, made an admirable 
speech in favour of the Scotch Militia, which I had the good fortune to hear, 
when I was a boy; and it was reported, that when commended on every 
side, as he was, for that performance—" If I was above myself," he answered, 
"I can account for it ; for I had been animated by the sublime ode of Dr. 
Akenside." — G-eorge Hardinge to Mr. Nichols , Literary Anecdotes, viii. 524. 
— W. 



ODES. 177 



But who are ye ? from Ebro's loitering sons 
To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine ; 
From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's throne?, 
And cities looking on the Cimbric main, 
Ye lost, ye self-deserted P whose proud lords 
Have baMed your tame hands, and given your swords 
To slavish ruffians, hir'd for their command : 
These, at some greedy mouk's or harlot's nod : 
See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod : 
These are the Public Will, the Reason of the land. 

in. 
Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while 
Dost thou presume ? O inexpert in arms, 
Yet vain of Freedom, how dost thou beguile, 
With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms ? 
Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd, 
The praise and envy of the nations round, 
What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's sway ? 
Amid the storms of war, how soon may all 
The lofty pile from its foundations fall, 
Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day ! 

IV. 

No : thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales 
Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store : 
And every port is crowded with thy sails, 
And every wave throws treasure on thy shore. 
What boots it ? If luxurious Plenty charm 
Thy selfish heart from Glory, if thy arm 
Shrink at the frowns of Danger and of Pain, 
Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine. 
Oh ! rather far be poor ! Thy gold will shine 
Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane. 

v. 

But what hath Force or War to do with thee ? 
Girt by the azure tide, and thron'd sublime 
Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see, 
With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime 
Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe 
Are thy fair fields : athwart thy guardian prow 
No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand — ■ 
Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind 
Obey thee ? Hast thou all thy hopes re sign'd 
To the sky's fickle faith? the pilot's wavermg hand F 
N 



178 AKE^SIDE. 



For, oh ! may neither Fear nor stronger Love 
(Love, by thy virtues princes nobly won) 
Thee, last of many wretched nations, move, 
With mighty armies station'd round the throne 
To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims 
Of Freedom ! Her proud records to the names 
Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine ; 
Whate'er thy ancient patriots dar'd demand 
From furious John's, or faithless Charles's hand, 
Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line. 

VII. 

But if thy sons be worthy of their name, 
If liberal laws with liberal arts they prize, 
Let them from conquest, and from servile shame 
In War's glad school their own protectors rise. 
Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultur'd plains, 
Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains, 
Now not unequal to your birth be found : 
The public voice bids arm your rural state, 
Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait, 
And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around. 

VIII. 

Why are ye tardy ? what inglorious care 
Detains you from their head, your native post ? 
Who most their country's fame and fortune share, 
'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most. 
Each man his task in social life sustains. 
With partial labours, with domestic gains 
Let others dwell : to you indulgent Heaven, 
By counsel and by arms the public cause 
To serve for public love and love's applause, 
The first employment far, the noblest hire, hath given. 

IX. 

Have ye not heard of Lacedsenion's fame ? 
Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine? 
Of Rome's dread generals? the Valerian name? 
The Fabian sons ? the Scipios, matchless line ? 
Your lot was theirs ; the farmer and the swain 
Met his lov'd patron's summons from the plain ; 
The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew : 
Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd ; 
The conquerors to their household gods return'd, 
And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer 'd the Sabine 
plough. 



ODES. 179 

X. 

Shall then this glory of the antique age, 
This pride of men, be lost among mankind ? 
Shall war's heroic arts no more engage 
The unbought hand, the un subjected mind? 
Doth valour to the race no more belong ? 
JN"o more with scorn of violence and wrong, 
Doth forming Mature now her sons inspire, 
That, like some mystery to few reveal'd, 
The skill of arms abash' d and aw'd they yield, 
And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire 

XI. 

O shame to human life, to human laws ! 
The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, 
Who his fell sword without affection draws, 
Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, 
This man the lessons of the field can learn ; 
Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, 
And every pledge of conquest : while in vain, 
To guard your altars, your paternal lands, 
Are social arms held out to your free hands : 
Too arduous is the lore ; too irksome were the pain. 

XII. 

Meantime by Pleasure's lyino; tales allur'd, 
From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray ; 
And, deep in London's gloomy haunts immur'd, 
Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decav. 
O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue ! 
The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields renew. 
The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend ; 
While he doth riot's orgies haply share, 
Or tempt the gamester's dark destroying snare, 
Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend. 

XIII. 

And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain 
That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng ; 
That the rude village-inmates now disdain 
Those homely ties AThich rul'd their fathers long. 
Alas, your fathers did by other arts 
Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts, 
And led in other paths their ductile wul ; 
By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, 
Won them the ancient manners to revere, 
To prize their country's peace, and heaven's due 
rites fulfil. 

N 2 



ISO AKEXSIDE. 



XIV. 

But mark the judgment of experienc'd Time, 
Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear 
A state ? and impotent sedition's crime ? 
The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there ; 
The powers who to command and to obey, 
Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway 
The rising race to manly concord tame ? 
Oft let the marshall'd field their steps unite, 
And in glad splendour bring before their sight 
One common cause and one hereditary fame. 

xv. 

]N"or yet be aw'd, nor yet your task disown, 
Though war's proud votaries look on severe ; 
Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone, 
They deem profane by your intruding ear. 
Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell, 
Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell, 
And mock the old simplicity, in vain : 
To the time's warfare, simple or refin'd, 
The time itself adapts the warrior's mind ; 
And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain. 

XVI. 

Say then ; if England's youth, in earlier days, 
On glory's field with well-train'cl armies vied, 
Why shall they now renounce that generous 

praise ? 
Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride? 
Tho' Yalois brav'd young Edward's gentle hand, 
And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn baud, 
With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd ; 
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd, 
Nor Audley's squires, nor Mowbray's yeomen 

brook'd : 
They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch 

bound. 

XVII. 

Such were the laurels which your fathers won ; 
Such Glory's dictates in their dauntless breast : 
— Is there no voice that speaks to every son ? 
No nobler, holier call to You address 'cl ? 
O ! by majestic Freedom, righteous Laws, 
By heavenly Truths, by manly Reason's cause, 



ODES. 181 

Awake ; attend ; be indolent no more : 
By friendship, social peace, domestic love, 
Rise ; arm ; your country's living safety prove ; 
And train her valiant youth, and watch around her 
shore. 



ODE XII. 

0^ RECOVEEI^a FHOItf A PIT OF SICKNESS IS 
THE COUNTRY. 1758. 

I. 

Thy verdant scenes, O G-oulder's Hill, 1 
Once more I seek, a languid guest : 
With throbbing temples and with burden' d breast 
Once more I climb thy steep aerial way. 
O faithful cure of oft-returning ill, 
Now call thy sprightly breezes round, 
Dissolve this rigid cough profound, 
And bid the springs of life with gentler movement 
play. 

ii. 

How gladly 'mid the dews of dawn 
My weary lungs thy healing gale, 
The balmy west, or the fresh north inhale ! 
How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove 
Hound the cool orchard, or the sunny lawn, 
Awak'd I stop, and look to find 
"What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind, 
Or what wild songster charms the Dryads of the 
grove. 

in. 

Now, ere the morning walk is done, 
The distant voice of Health I hear 
Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear. 
" Droop not, nor doubt of my return," she cries ; 
" Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon, 
Meet thee beneath yon chestnut bower, 
And lenient on thy bosom pour 
That indolence divine which lulls the earth and 
skies." 

1 The residence of ~Mv. Dyson, about three miles from Hampstead. — TV. 



182 AKENSIDE. 



IV. 

The goddess promis'd not in vain: 
I found her at my favourite time : 
Nor wish'd to breathe in any softer clime, 
While (half-reclin'd, half-slumbering as I lay) 
She hover'd o'er me. Then, among her train 
Of Nymphs and Zephyrs, to my view 
Thy gracious form appear 'd anew; 
Then first, O heavenly Muse, unseen for many a 
day. 



In that soft pomp the tuneful maid 
Shone like the golden star of love : 
I saw her hand in careless measures move ; 
I heard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre, 
While my whole frame the sacred sound obey'd. 
New sunshine o'er my fancy springs, 
New colours clothe external things, 
And the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire. 



O Goulder's Hill, by thee restor'd 

Once more to this enliven'd hand, 
My harp, which late resounded o'er the land 
The voice of glory, solemn and severe, 
My Dorian harp shall now with mild accord 

To thee her joyful tribute pay, 

And send a less-ambitious lay 
Of friendship and of love to greet thy master's ear. 

VII. 

For when within thy shady seat 
First from the sultry town he chose, 
And the tir'd senate's cares, his wish'd repose, 
Then wast thou mine ; to me a happier home 
For social leisure : where my welcome feet, 
Estrang'd from all the entangling ways 
In which the restless vulgar strays, 
Through Nature's simple paths with ancient Faith 
might roam. 



ODES. 183 



And while around his sylvan scene 

My Dyson led the white-wing'd hours, 
Oft from the Athenian Academic bowers 
Their sages came : oft heard our lingering walk 
The Mantuan music warbling o'er the green : 

And oft did Tully's reverend shade, 

Though much for liberty afraid, 
With us of letter'd ease, or virtuous glory talk. 

IX. 

But other guests were on their way, 
And reach'd ere long this favour 'd grove : 
Even the celestial progeny of Jove, 
Bright Venus, with her all-subduing son, 
Vvnose golden shaft most willingly obey 
The best and wisest. As they came, 
Glad Hymen wav'd his genial flame, 
And sang their happy gifts, and prais'd their spotless 
throne. 

x. 

I saw when through yon festive gate 

He led along his chosen maid, 
And to my friend with smiles presenting said : 
" Receive that fairest wealth which Heaven assign 'd 
To human fortune. Did thy lonely state 

One wish, one utmost hope confess ? 

Behold, she comes, to adorn and bless : 
Comes, worthy of thy heart, and equal to thy mind." 



184 AKENSIDE. 



ODE XIII. 



TO THE AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OE THE HOUSE 
OE ERANDEKBURGH. 1751. 1 



The men renown'd as chiefs of human race, 
And born to lead in counsels, or in arms, 
Have seldom turn'd their feet from Glory's chace 
To dwell with books, or court the Muse's charms : 
Yet, to our eyes if haply time hath brought 
Some genuine transcript of their calmer thought, 
There still we own the wise, the great, or good ; 
And Csesar there and Xenophon are seen, 
As clear in spirit and sublime of mien, 
As on Pharsalian plains, or by the Assyrian flood. 

II. 

Say thou too,- Frederic, was not this thy aim ? 
Thy yigils could the student's lamp engage, 
Except for this ? except that future Fame 
Might read thy genius in the faithful page ? 
That if hereafter Envy shall presume 
With words irreverent to inscribe thy tomb, 
And baser weeds upon thy palms to fling, 
That hence posterity may try thy reign, 
Assert thy treaties, and thy wars explain, 
And view in native lights the hero and the king. 

in. 
O evil foresight and pernicious care ! 
"Wilt thou indeed abide by this appeal ? 
Shall we the lessons of thy pen compare 
With private honour, or with public zeal ? 

1 In the year 1751 appeared a very splendid edition, in quarto, of 
" Memoires pour servir a l'Histoire de la Maison de Brandebourg, a Berlin 
et a la Haye;" with a privilege signed Frederic; the same being engraved 
in imitation of hand-writing. In this edition, among other extraordinary 
passages, are the two following, to which the third stanza of this ode more 
particularly refers : — 

" II se fit une migration (the author is speaking of what happened of the 
revocation of the edict of Nantes) dont on n'avoit guere vu d'exemples dans 
l'histoire : un peuple entier sortit du royaume par 1' esprit de parti en haine 
du pape, et pour recevoir sous un autre ciel la communion sous les deux 
especes : quatre cens mille ames s'expatrierent ainsi et abandonnerent tous 
leur biens pourdetonner dans d'autres temples les vieuxpsaumes de Clement 
Marot." — p. 163. 

" La crainte donna le jour a la credulite, et 1' amour propre interessa bientot 
le ciel au destin des hommes." — p. 242. 



ODES. 185 

Whence then at things divine those darts of scorn ? 
Why are the woes, which virtuous men have borne 
For sacred truth, a prey to laughter given ? 
What fiend, what foe of Nature urg'd thy arm 
The Almighty of his sceptre to disarm ? 
To push this earth adrift, and leave it loose from Heaven ? 

IV. 

Ye godlike shades of legislators old, 
Ye who made Eome victorious, Athens wise, 
Ye first of mortals with the bless'd enroll'd, 
Say did not horror in your bosoms rise, 
When thus by impious vanity impell'd 
A magistrate, a monarch, ye beheld 
Affronting civil order's holiest bands ? 
Those bands which ye so labour'd to improve ? 
Those hopes and fears of justice from above, 
Which tam'd the savage world to your divine com- 
mands ? i 



ODE XIY. 

THE COHPLAiyi. 



Away ! away ! 
Tempt me no more, insidious love : 

Thy soothing sway 
Long did my youthful bosom prove : 
At length thy treason is discern'd, 
At length some dear-bought caution earn'd : 
Away ! nor hope my riper age to move. 

ii. 
I know, I see 
Her merit. Needs it now be shown, 

Alas, to me ? 
How often, to myself unknown, 
The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid 
Have I admir'd ! How often said, 
What joy to call a heart like hers one's own ! 

1 The "Memoirs" were written by Frederick, called the Great, king of 
Prussia. Kippis thinks that the ode was designed to expose the irreligious 
tenets of the royal historian. Johnson said, " His prose is poor stuff; he 
writes much as you may suppose Voltaire's footboy to do, who has been his 
amanuensis. He has such parts as the valet might have, and about as much- 
of the colouring of the style as might be got by transcribing his works." — W. 



1S6 AKEKSEDE. 

III. 
But, flattering god, 
O squanderer of content and ease, 

In thy abode 
Will care's rude lesson learn to please ? 
O say, deceiver, hast thou won 
Proud Fortune to attend thy throne, 
Or plac'd thy friends above her stern decrees ? 



ODE XV. 

Ols DOMESTIC HACKEES. 
(unfinished.) 

I. 

Meek Honour, female shame, 
O ! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky, 

From Albion dost thou fly ; 
Of Albion's daughters once the favourite fame ? 

O beauty's only friend, 
Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire ; 

Who selfish, bold desire 
Dost to esteem and dear affection turn ; 

Alas, of thee forlorn 
What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend ? 

ii. 

Behold ; our youths in vain 
Concerning nuptial happiness inquire : 

Our maids no more aspire 
The arts of bashful Hymen to attain ; 

But with triumphant eyes 
And cheeks impassive, as they move along, 

Ask homage of the throng. 
The lover swears that in a harlot's arms 

Are found the self-same charms, 
And worthless and deserted lives and dies. 

in. 

Behold ; unbless'd at home, 
The father of the cheerless household mourns : 

The night in vain returns, 
For Love and glad Content at distance roam ; 



ODES. 1ST 

While she, in whoin his mind 
Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares, 

To meet him she prepares, 
Through noise and spleen and all the gamester's art, 

A listless, harass'd heart. 
"Where not one tender thought can welcome find. 

IT. 

'Twas thus, along the shore 
Of Thames, Britannia's guardian G-enius heard, 

From many a tongue preferr'd, 
Of strife and grief the fond invective lore : 

At which the queen divine 
Indignant, with her adamantine spear, 

Like thunder sounding near, 
Smote the red cross upon her silver shield, 

And thus her wrath reveal'd ; 
(I watch 'd her awful words and made them mine.) 
* # # # 



188 AKENSIDE. 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 

Akenside contributed "The Hymn to the Naiads" to the sixth 
volume of "Dodsley's Miscellany." The Publisher sent a copy of 
the whole series, " gilt and lettered," to Gray, who seems to have 
been deaf and blind to the music and the sweetness of the verses. 
"Why, the two last volumes'' — we find him writing to Dr. Warton 
— " are worse than the four first ; particularly, Dr. Akenside is in a 
deplorable way. What signifies learning and the ancients ? (Mason 
will say triumphantly) why should people read Greek, to lose their 
imagination, their ear, and their mother tongue ?" Well may Mr. 
Dyce ask — "Could such a scholar as Gray be insensible to the 
classic beauty of the ' Hymn to the Naids,' and the Inscriptions 
of Akenside?" Certainly, in these poems, imagination, ear, and 
pure mother-tongue are present, and abound. The rhythm of the 
Hymn is delicious ; and the style is worthy of the music that 
clothes it. The admiration of Wordsworth may be set against the 
sneer of Gray, who appears to have had a personal dislike to 
Akenside. On the Good P'riday of the same year, he told Mason, 
in reference to the same volume of Dodsley, ' ' Hodges is a sad 
fellow ; so is Dr. Akenside, and Mr. Shenstone, our friends and 
companions." A "poetical impropriety," in this Hymn is noticed 
by Mr. Bucke — "Akenside had been admitted to a Doctors degree 
at Cambridge ; but a jealousy subsisting at that time between 
the Universities of Cambridge and Oxford, he expressly mentions 
Cambridge when his subject required him to mention Oxford ; 
since Oxford stands upon the Thames ; and it is to " the blue- 
eyed progeny of Thames" that he addresses himself throughout the 
whole of his poem." The passage is the following : — 

From noon to eve, 
Along the river and the paved brook 
Ascend the cheerful breezes, hail'd of bards, 
Who, fast by learned Cam, the iEolian lyre 
Solicit. 

ARGUMENT. 

The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed 
at day-break, in honour of their several functions, and of the 
relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral world 
— Their origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or 
powers of nature ; according to the doctrine of the old mytho- 
logical poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the rise 
of things — They are then successively considered, as giving motion 



HYMN TO THE SALADS. 189 

to the air and exciting summer-breezes ; as nourishing and 
beautifying the vegetable creation ; as contributing to the fulness 
of navigable rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of com- 
merce ; and, by that means, to the maritime part of military 
power — Jsext is represented their' favourable influence upon 
health, when assisted by rural exercise : which introduces their 
connexion with the art of physic, and the happy effects of 
mineral medicinal springs — Lastly, they are celebrated for the 
friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspira- 
tion which temperance only can receive ; in opposition to the 
enthusiasm of the more licentious poets. 

O'er yonder eastern hill the twilight pale 
Walks forth from darkness ; and the Grod of day, 
With bright Astraea seated by his side, 
Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs, 
Ye nymphs, ye bine-eyed progeny of Thames, 
Who now the mazes of this rugged heath 
Trace with your fleeting steps ; who all night long 
Bepeat, amid the cool and tranquil air, 
Your lonely murmurs, tarry • and receive 
My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due, 
I leave the gates of sleep ; nor shall my lyre 
Too far into the splendid hours of morn 
Engage your audience : my observant hand 
Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam 
Approach you. To your subterranean haunts 
Ye then may timely steal ; to pace with care 
The humid sands ; to loosen from the soil 
The bubbling sources ; to direct the rills 
To meet in wider channels ; or beneath 
Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon 
To slumber, shelter 'd from the burning heaven. 

Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs? or end? 
Wide is your praise and copious — First of things, 
First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose, 
Were Love and Chaos. 1 Love, the Sire of Fate ; 

i Hesiod, in his Theogony, gives a different account, and makes Chaos 
the eldest of beings, though he assigns to Love neither father nor superior; 
which circumstance is particularly mentioned by Phaedrus, in Plato's 
Banquet, as being observable not ^only in Hesiod/but in all other writers 
both of verse and prose ; and on the same occasion he cites a line from Par- 
menides, in which Love is expressly styled the eldest of all the gods. Yet 
Aristophanes, in " The Birds/'" affirms that " Chaos, andZsigkt, and Erebus, 
and Tartarus were first ; and that Love was produced from an egg, which 
the sable-winged ]S"ight deposited in the immense bosom of Erebus/' But 
it must be observed that the Love designed by this comic poet was alwavs 
distinguished from the other, from that original and self-existent being, the 
TO ON or ATAQOX of Plato, and meant only the AHMIOYPTOS or second 
person of the old Grecian trinity, to whom is inscribed a hymn among those 



190 AKEXSIDE. 

Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time, 1 
Who many sons and many comely births 

which pass under the name of Orpheus, where he is called Protogonos, or 
the first-begotten, is said to have been born of an egg, and is represented as 
the principal or origin of all these external appearances of nature. In the 
fragments of Orpheus, collected by Henry Stephens, he is named Phanes, 
the discoverer or discloser, who unfolded the ideas of the supreme intelli- 
gence, and exposed them to the perception of inferior beings in this visible 
frame of the world ; as Macrobius, and Proclus, and Athenagoras, all agree 
to interpret the several passages of Orpheus which they have preserved. 

But the Love designed in our text is the one self-existent and infinite 
mind, whom if the generality of ancient mythologists have not introduced 
or truly described, in accounting for the production of the world and its ap- 
pearances ; yet, to a modern poet, it can be no objection that he hath ven- 
tured to differ from them in this particular ; though, in other respects, he 
professeth to imitate their manner and conform to their opinions. For, in 
these great points of natural theology, they differ no less remarkably among 
themselves ; and are perpetually confounding the philosophical relations of 
things with the traditionary circumstances of mythic history; upon which 
very account, Callimachus, in his hymn to Jupiter, declareth his dissent 
from them concerning even an article of the national creed, adding that the 
ancient bards were by no means to be depended on. And yet in the exor- 
dium of the old Argonautic poem, ascribed to Orpheus, it is said that " Love, 
whom mortals in later times call Phanes, was the father of the eternally- 
begotten Night," who is generally represented by these mythological poets 
as being herself the parent of all things, and who in the " Indigitamenta," 
or Orphic Hymns, is said to be the same with Cypris, or Love itself. More- 
over, in the body of this Argonautic poem where the personated Orpheus in- 
troduced himself singing to his lyre in reply to Chiron ; he celebrateth " the 
obscure memory of Chaos, and the natures which it contained within itself 
in a state of perpetual vicissitude ; how the heaven had its boundary deter- 
mined, the generation of the earth, the depth of the ocean, and also the 
sapient Love, the most ancient, the self-sufficient ; with all the beings which 
he produced when he separated one thing from another." "Which noble 
passage is more directly to Aristotle's purpose in the first book of his meta- 
physics than any of those which he has there quoted to show that the ancient 
poets and mythologists agreed with Empedocles, Anaxagoras, and the other 
more sober philosophers, in that natural anticipation and common notion of 
mankind concerning the necessity of mind and reason to account for the 
connexion, motion, and good order of the world. Por, though neither this 
poem, nor the hymns which pass under the same name, are, it should seem, 
the work of the real Orpheus, yet beyond all question they are very ancient. 
The hymns, more particularly, are allowed to be older than the invasion of 
Greece by Xerxes, and were probably a set of public and solemn forms of 
devotion, as appears by a passage in one of them, which Demosthenes hath 
almost literally cited in his first oration against Aristogiton, as the saying of 
Orpheus, the founder of their most hoiy mysteries. On this account, they 
are of higher authority than any other mythological work now extant, the 
" Theogony ' of Hesiod himself not excepted. The poetry of them is often 
extremely noble ; and the mysterious air which prevails in them, together 
with its delightful impression upon the mind, cannot be better expressed 
than in that remarkable description with which they inspired the German 
editor, Eschenbach, when he accidentally met with them at Leipsic : — 
" Thesaurum me reperisse credidi," says he, " et profecto thesaurum reperi. 
Incredibile dictu quo me sacro horrore afflaverint indigitamenta ista deorum : 
nam et tempus ad illorum lectionem eligere cogebar, quod vel solum hor- 
rorem 'incut ere animo potest, nocturnum ; cum enim totam diem consuni- 
serim in contemplando urbis splendore, et in adeundis, quibus scatet urbs 
ilia, viris doctis ; sola nox restabat, quam Orpheo consecrare potui. In 
abyssum quendam mysteriorum veneranda? antiquitatis descendere videbar, 
quotiescunque silente mundo, solis vigilantibus astris et luna, fxekavrjcfxiTovs 
istos hymnos ad manus sumsi." 

Chaos is the unformed, undigested mass of Moses and Plato which Milton 
calls, 

" The womb of nature." 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 191 

Devour'd, 2 relentless father ; till the child 
Of Bhea 3 drove him from the upper sky, 4 
And quell'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd 5 
The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops, 
And spotless Vesta ; while supreme of sway 
Remain'd the Cloud-Compeller, From the couch 
Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race, 6 
Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime, 
Send tribute to their parent ; and from them 
Are ye, O Naiads : 7 Arethusa fair, 

Fate is the universal system of natural causes — the work of the Omnipo- 
tent Mind, or of Love. So Minucius Felix: "Quid enim aliud est fatum, 
quam quod de unoquoque nostrum deus fatus est." So also Cicero, in the 
First Book on Divination : "Fatum autem id appello, quod Graeci EIMAP- 
MENHN : id est, ordinem seriemque causarum, cum causa causae nexa rem 
ex se giguat — ex quo intelligitur, ut fatum sit non id quod superstitiose, sed 
id quod physice dicitur causa aeterna rerum." To the same purpose is the 
doctrine of Hierocles, in that excellent fragment concerning Providence and 
Destiny. As to the three Fates, or Destinies of the Poets, they represented 
that part of the general system of natural causes which relates to man, and 
to other mortal beings ; for so we are told in the hymn addressed to them 
among the Orphic Indigitamenta, where they are called the daughters of 
Night (or Love), and, contrary to the vulgar notion, are distinguished t>y the 
epithets of gentle and tender-hearted. According to Hesiod, Theog. ver. 
904, they were the daughters of Jupiter and Themis ; but in the Orphic 
Hymn to Venus, or Love, that goddess is directly styled the mother of 
Necessity, and is represented, immediately after, as governing the three 
Destinies, and conducting the whole system of natural causes. 

1 Cronos, Saturn, or Time, was, according to Apollodorus, the son of 
Caelum and Tellus. But the author of the Hymns gives it quite undisguised 
by mythological language, and calls him plainly the offspring of the earth 
and the starry heaven ; that is, of Fate, as explained in the preceding note. 

2 The known fable of Saturn devouring his children was certainly meant 
to imply the dissolution of natural bodies, which are produced and destroyed 
by Time. 

3 Jupiter, so called by Pindar. 

* That Jupiter dethroned his father Saturn, is recorded by all the mytho- 
logists. Phurnutus, or Cornutus, the author of a little Greek treatise on 
the nature of the gods, informs us that by Jupiter was meant the vegetable 
soul of the world, which restrained and prevented those uncertain alterations 
which Saturn, or Time, used formerly to cause in the mundane system. 

5 Our mythology here supposeth that, before the establishment of the 
vital, vegetative, plastic nature (represented by Jupiter), the four elements 
were in a variable and unsettled condition; but afterwards, well-disposed 
and at peace among themselves. Tethys was the wife of the Ocean; Ops, or 
Rhea, the Earth ; Vesta, the eldest daughter of Saturn, Fire ; and the cloud 
compeller, or Zeus ve^eA^Yeperrj?, the Air ; though he also represented the 
pi istic principle of Nature, as may be seen in the Orphic hymn inscribed to him. 

6 The river- gods, who, according to Hesiod' s Theogony, were the sons of 
Oceanus and Tethys. 

' The descent of the Naiads is less certain than most points of the Greek 
mythology. Homer, Odyss. xiii. Kovpai Atd?. Virgil, in the Eighth Book of 
the iEneid, speaks as if the Nymphs, or Naiads, were the parents of the rivers ; 
but in this he contradicts the testimony of Hesiod, and evidently departs 
from the orthodox system, which representeth several nymphs as pertaining to 
every single river. On the other hand, Callimachus. who was very learned 
in all the school-divinity of those times, in his hymn to Delos, maketh 
Peneus, the great Thessaiian river-god, the father of his nymphs ; and Ovid, 
in the fourteenth book of his Metamorphoses, mentions the Naiads of Latium 
as the immediate daughters of the neighbouring river-gods. Accordingly, 
the Naiads of particular rivers are occasionally, both by Ovid and Statius, 
called by a patronymic, from the name of the river to which they belong. 



192 AKENSIDE. 

And tuneful Aganippe ; that sweet name, 
Bandusia ; that soft family which dwelt 
"With Syrian Daphne j 1 and the honour 'd tribes 
Belov'd of Pseon. 2 Listen to my strain, 
Daughters of Tethys : listen to your praise. 

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, 3 which of old 
Aurora to divine Astrseus bore, 
Owns ; and your aid beseecheth. When the might 
Of Hyperion, 4 from his noontide throne, 
Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you 
They ask ; Favonius and the mild South-west 
From you relief implore. Your sallying streams 5 
Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. 
Again they fly, disporting ; from the mead 
Half ripen'd, and the tender blades of corn, 
To sweep the noxious mildew ; or dispel 
Contagious streams, which oft the parched earth 
Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve, 
Along the river and the paved brook, 
Ascend the cheerful breezes : hail'd of bards 
Who, fast by learned Cam, the iEolian lyre 
Solicit ; nor unwelcome to the youth 
Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclin'd 
O'er rushing Anio, with a pious hand 
The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, 
Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp 
Of ancient time ; and haply, while he scans 
The ruins, with a silent tear revolves 
The fame and fortune of imperious Rome. 

You too, O JN"ymphs, and your unenvious aid 
The rural powers confess ; and still prepare 
For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands, 
Oft as the Delian king 6 with Sirius holds 

i The grove of Daphne, in Syria, near Antioch, was famous for its delightful 
fountains. 

2 Mineral and medicinal springs. Paeon was the physician of the gods. 

3 The winds, who, according to Hesiod and Apollodorus, were the sons oi 
Astrseus and Aurora. 

4 A son of Caelum and Tellus, and father of the Sun, who is thence called, 
by Pindar, Hyperionides. But Hyperion is put by Homer in the sams 
manner as here, for the Sun himself. 

5 The state of the atmosphere with respect to rest and motion is, in 
several ways, affected by rivers and running streams ; and that more espe- 
cially in hot seasons. First, they destroy its equilibrium, by cooling those 
parts of it with which they are in contact ; and secondly, they communicate 
their own motion ; and the air which is thus moved by them being left heated, 
is of consequence more elastic than other parts of the atmosphere, and 
therefore fitter to preserve and to propagate that motion. 

6 One of the epithets of Apollo, or the Sun, in the Orphic hymn inscribed 
to him. 



HYMtf TO THE NAIADS. 193 

The central heavens, the father of the grove 
Commands his Dryads over your abodes 
To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god 
Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied 
Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime. 

Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray, 
Pursues your steps, delighted ; and the path 
With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts 
The laughing Chloris, 1 with profusest hand, 
Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with you 
Pomona seeks to dwell : and o'er the lawns, 
And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames 
Ye love to wander, Amalthea 2 pours 
Well-pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn, 
Her dower ; unmindful of the fragrant isles 
Nyssean or Atlantic. JSTor canst thou, 
(Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock 
The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn, 
O Bromius, O Lensean,) nor canst thou 
Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, 
With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me, 
Yet blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre, 
Accept the rites your bounty well may claim ; 
JN"or heed the scoffings of the Edonian band. 3 

For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire, 
As down the verdant slope your duteous rills 

1 The ancient Greek name for Flora. 

2 The mother of the first Bacchus, whose birth and education was written, 
as Diodorus Siculus informs us, in the old Pelasgic character, by Thymcetes, 
grandson to Laomedon, and contemporary with Orpheus. Thymoetes had 
travelled over Libya to the country which borders on the "Western Ocean j 
there he saw the" island of ISTysa, and learned from the inhabitants that 
" Ammon, King of Libya, was married in former ages to Ehea, sister of 
Saturn and the Titans ; that he afterwards fell in love with a beautiful virgin 
whose name was Amalthea ; had by her a son, and gave her possession of a 
neighbouring tract of land, wonderfully fertile, which in shape nearlv re- 
sembling the horn of an ox, was thence called the Hesperian Horn, and 
afterwards the horn of Amalthea ; that fearing the jealousy of Ehea, he con- 
cealed the young Bacchus, with his mother, in the island of ISysa;" the 
beauty of which Diodorus describes with great dignity and pomp of style. 
This fable is one of the noblest in all the ancient mythology, and seems to 
have made a particular impression on the imagination of Milton, the only 
modern poet (unless, perhaps, it be necessary to except Spenser) who, in 
these mysterious traditions of the poetic story, had a heart to feel and words 
to express the simple and solitary genius of antiquity. To raise the idea of 
his paradise, he prefers it even to — 

" that Xysean isle 

Girt by the river Triton, where old Cham, 
(Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove) 
Hid Amalthea, and her florid son, 
Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye." 

3 The priestesses and other ministers of Bacchus ; so called from Edonus 
a mountain of Thrace, where his rites were celebrated. 



194 AKENSIDE. 

Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives, 

Delighted ; and your piety applauds ; 

And bids his copious tide roll on secure, 

For faithful are his daughters ; and with words 

Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now 

His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings 

Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts 

Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn, 

When Hermes, 1 from Olympus bent o'er earth 

To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill 

Stoops lightly-sailing ; oft intent your springs 

He views : and waving o'er some new-born stream 

His blest pacific wand, " And yet," he cries, 

" Yet," cries the son of Maia, " though recluse 

And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs, 

Mows wealth and kind society to men. 

By you my function and my honour'd name 

Do I possess ; while o'er the Bcetic vale, 

Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms 

By sacred Ganges water'd, I conduct 

The English merchant : with the buxom fleece 

Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe 

Sarmatian kings ; or to the household gods 

Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore, 

Dispense the mineral treasure 2 which of old 

Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land 

Was yet unconscious of those generous arts, 

Which wise Phoenicia, from their native clime, 

Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven." 

Such are the words of Hermes : such the praise, 
O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits 
Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power : 
And those who, sedulous in prudent works, 
Helieve the wants of nature, Jove repays 
With noble wealth, and his own seat on earth, 
Eit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might 
Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns 
Not vainly to the hospitable arts 
Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nymphs, 

1 Hermes, or Mercury, was the patron of commerce, in which benevolent 
character he is addressed by the author of the Indigitamenta, in these beau- 
tiful lines : 

'Epjarjvev iravTOiV, /cep8e'/x7rope, \v(TLixepLfxve, 
*0? x.eipe(x6iv e^eis eipijvqs oirkov /xe^es. 

2 The merchants of Sidon and Tyre made frequent voyages to the coast of 
Cornwall, from whence they carried home great quantities of tin. 



HYM^ TO THE NAIADS. 195 

Hath lie not won the unconquerable queen 1 

Of arms to court your friendship ? You she owns 

The fair associates who extend her sway 

Wide o'er the mighty deep ; and grateful things 

Of you she uttereth, oft as from the shore 

Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks 

Of Yecta, she her thundering navy leads 

To Calpe's foaming channel, 2 or the rough 

Cantabrian surge ; her auspices divine 

Imparting to the senate and the prince 

Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings, 

The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings 

Was ever scorn'd by Pallas : and of old 

Rejoic'd the virgin, from the brazen prow 

Of Athens, o'er iEgina's gloomy surge 3 

To drive her clouds and storms ; o'erwhelming all 

The Persian's promis'd glory, when the realms 

Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime, 

When Libya's torrid champaign and the rocks 

Of cold Imaiis join'd their servile bands, 

To sweep the sons of Liberty from earth. 

In vain ! Minerva on the bounding prow 

Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice 

Denounced her terrors on their impious heads, 

And shook her burning segis. Xerxes saw : 4 

From Heracleuni, on the mountain's height 

Thron'd in his golden car, he knew the sign 

Celestial ; felt unrighteous hope forsake 

His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame. 

Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power, 
Who arm the hand of Liberty for war : 
And give to the renown'd Britannic name 
To awe contending monarchs : yet benign, 
Yet mild of nature : to the works of peace 
More prone, and lenient of the many ills 
Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid 
Hygeia well can witness ; she who saves, 

1 Mercury, the patron of commerce, being so greatly dependent on the 
good offices of the ZSaiads, in return obtains for them the friendship of 
Minerva, the goddess of war ; for military power — at least, the naTal part of 
it — hath constantly followed the establishment of trade, which exemplifies 
the preceding observation, that " from bounty issueth power." 

2 Gibraltar and the Bay of Biscay. 

3 ]S"ear this island the Athenians obtained the victory of Salamis, over the 
Persian navy. 

4 This circumstance is recorded in that passage, perhaps the most splendid 
among all the remains of ancient history, where Plutarch, in his Life of 
Themistocles, describes the sea-lights of Artemisium and Salamis. 

o 2 



19(5 AKENSIDE. 

From poisonous cates and cups of pleasing bane, 

The wretch devoted to the entangling snares 

Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads 

To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils, 

To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn 

At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds, 

She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams : 

And where his breast may drink the mountain breeze, 

And where the fervour of the sunny vale 

May beat upon his brow, through devious paths 

Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease, 

Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd 

His eager bosom, does the queen of health 

Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board 

She guards presiding ; and the frugal powers 

With joy sedate leads in : and while the brown 

Ennsean dame with Pan presents her stores : 

While changing still, and comely in the change, 

Yertumnus and the Hours before him spread 

The garden's banquet : you to crown his feast, 

To crown his feast, O JNaiads, you the fair 

Hygeia calls : and from your shelving seats, 

And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring, 

To slake his veins ; till soon a purer tide 

Flows down those loaded channels ; washeth off 

The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds 

Of crude disease ; and through the abodes of life 

Sends vigour, sends repose. Hail, Naiads : hail, 

Who give to labour, health ; to stooping age, 

The joys which youth had squander'd. Oft your urns 

Will I invoke ; and frequent in your praise, 

Abash the frantic Thyrsus 1 with my song. 

For not estrang'd from your benignant arts 
Is he the god, to whose mysterious shrine 
My youth was sacred, and my votive cares 
Belong ; the learned Paeon. Oft when all 
His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain ; 
When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm 
[Rich with the genial influence of the sun, 
(To rouse dark fancy from her plaintive dreams, 
To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win 
Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast 
Which pines with silent passion) he in vain 

1 A staff, or spear, wreathed round with ivy, of constant use in the baccha- 
nalian mysteries. 



HYM]S T TO THE FAIADS. 197 

Hath prov'd ; to your deep mansion he descends. 
Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades 
He entereth ; where impurpled veins of ore 
Gleam on the roof ; where through the rigid mine 
Your trickling rills insinuate. There the god 
From your indulgent hands the streaming bowl 
Wafts to his pale-ey'd suppliants ; wafts the seeds 
Metallic and the elemental salts 
Wash'd from the pregnant glebe. They drink : and 

soon 
Flies pain ; flies inauspicious care : and soon 
The social haunt or unfrequented shade 
Hears ' Io, Io Psean ; n as of old, 
When Python fell. And, O propitious Nymphs, 
Oft as for hapless mortals I implore 
Your sultry springs, through every urn 
Oh, shed your healing treasures ! With the first 
And finest breath, which from the genial strife 
Of mineral fermentation springs, like light 
O'er the fresh morning's vapours, lustrate then 
The fountain, and inform the rising wave. 

My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye 
That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand - 
Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes, 
Not unregarded of celestial powers, 
I frame their language ; and the Muses deign 
To guide the pious tenor of my lay. 
The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine) 
In early days did to my wondering sense 
Their secrets oft reveal : oft my rais'd ear 
In slumber felt their music : oft at noon, 
Or hour of sunset, by some lonely stream, 
In field or shady grove, they taught me words 
Of power from death and envy to preserve 
The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful 

mind, 
And offerings unprofan'd by ruder eye, 
My vows I send, rny homage to the seats 
Of rocky Cirrha, 2 where with you they dwell : 
Where you, their chaste companions, they admit 
Through all the hallo w'd scene : where oft intent, 

1 An exclamation of victory and triumph, derived from Apollo's encounter 
with Python. 

2 One of the summits of Parnassus, and sacred to Apollo. ]N"ear it were 
several fountains, said to be frequented by the Muses. ]S"ysa, the other 
eminence of the same mountain, was dedicated to Bacchus. 



198 AKENSIDE. 

And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge, 

They mark tlie cadence of your confluent urns, 

How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose, 

To their consorted measure : till again, 

With emulation all the sounding choir, 

And bright Apollo, leader of the song, 

Their voices through the liquid air exalt, 

And sweep their lofty strings : those powerful strings 

That charm the mind of gods i 1 that fill the courts 

Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet 

Of evils, with immortal rest from cares ; 

Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove : 

And quench the formidable thunderbolt 

Of unrelenting fire. With slackened wings, 

While now the solemn concert breathes around, 2 

Incumbent o'er the sceptre of his lord 

Sleeps the stern eagle ; by the number'd notes 

Possess'd ; and satiate with the melting tone : 

Sovereign of birds ! The furious god of war, 

His darts forgetting, and the winged wheels 

That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain, 

Relents, and soothes his own fierce heart to ease, 

Most welcome ease. The sire of gods and men, 

In that great moment of divine delight, 

Looks down on all that live ; and whatsoe'er 

He loves not, o'er the peopled earth and o'er 

The interminated ocean, he beholds 

Curs'd with abhorrence by his doom severe, 

And troubled at the sound. Ye Naiads, ye, 

With ravish'd ears the melody attend 

Worthy of sacred silence. But the slaves 

Of Bacchus with tempestuous clamours strive 

1 This whole passage, concerning the effects of sacred music among the 
gods, is taken from Pindar's first Pythian ode. 

2 Mr. Dugald Stewart remarks (" Philosophical Essays," ii. chap. 11) after 
noticing the imitation of Pindar's verses on the eagle, by Gray and Akenside 
— " Of the two English poets just mentioned, it is observable that the former 
has made no farther reference to Jupiter, than as carrying 'the feathered 
king on his sceptred hand ;' but, in order to compensate for this omission, 
he has contrived, in his picture of the eagle's sleep, by the magical charm of 
figurative language, to suggest, indirectly, the very same sublime image with 
which the description of Pindar commences : — 

* Quench' d in dark clouds of slumber lie, 
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye/ " 

Mr. Stewart reminds us, also, that in Akenside's imitation, as well as in the 
original, the reader is prepared for the short episode of the Eagle by the 
previous allusion to the thunderbolt; and he states his doubts, " whether in 
Gray the transition to this picture from ' Thracia's Hills,' and the ' Lord of 
War/ be not a little too violent even for lyric poetry." — W. 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 199 

To drown the heavenly strains ; of highest Jove, 

Irreverent; and by mad presumption fir'd 

Their own discordant raptures to advance 

With hostile emulation. Down they rush 

From JNysa's vine-impurpled cliff, the dames 

Of Thrace, the Satyrs, and the unruly Fauns, 

With old Silenus, reeling through the crowd 

Which gambols round him, in convulsions wild 

Tossing their limbs, and brandishing in air 

The ivy -mantled thyrsus, or the torch 

Through black smoke naming, to the Phrygian pipe's 1 

Shrill voice ; and to the clashing cymbals, mix'd 

With shrieks and frantic uproar. May the gods 

From every unpolluted ear avert 

Their orgies ! If within the seats of men, 

Within the walls, the gates, where Pallas holds 

The guardian key, 2 if haply there be found 

Who loves to mingle with the revel-band, 

And hearken to their accents ; who aspires 

From such instructors to inform his breast 

With verse : let him, fit votarist, implore 

Their inspiration, He perchance the gifts 

Of young Lyseus, and the dread exploits, 

May sing in aptest numbers : he the fate 

Of sober Pentheus, 3 he the Paphian rites, 

And naked Mars with Cytherea chain 'd, 

And strong Alcides in the spinster's robes, 

May celebrate, applauded. But with you, 

O Naiads, far from that unhallow'd rout, 

Must dwell the man whoe'er to praised themes 

Invokes the immortal Muse. The immortal Muse 

To your calm habitations, to the cave 

Corycian 4 , or the Delphic mount, 5 will guide 

1 The Phrygian music was fantastic and turbulent, and fit to excite dis- 
orderly passions. 

2 It was the office of Minerva to be the guardian of walled cities, whence 
she was named IIOAIA2 and HOAIOYXOS, and had her statues placed in 
their gates, being supposed to keep the keys, and on that account styled 
KAHAOYX02. 

3 Pentheus was torn in pieces by the bacchanalian priests and women, for 
despising their mysteries. 

4 Of this cave Pausanias, in his Tenth Book, gives the following descrip- 
tion : — " Between Delphi and the eminences of Parnassus is a road to the 
grotto of Corycium, which has its name from the nymph Corycia, and is by 
far the most remarkable which I have seen. One may walk a great way into 
it without a torch. 'Tis of a considerable height, and hath several springs 
within it ; and yet a much greater quantity of water distils from the shell 
and roof, so as to be continually dropping on the ground. The people round 
Parnassus hold it sacred to the Corycian nymphs and to Pan." 

5 Delphi, the seat and oracle of Apollo, had a mountainous and rocky 
situation, on the skirts of Parnassus. 



200 AKEXSIDE. 

His footsteps ; and with your unsullied streams 

His lips will bathe : whether the eternal lore 

Of Themis, or the majesty of Jove, 

To mortals he reveal ; or teach his lyre 

The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils, 

In those unfading islands of the bless'd, 

"Where sacred bards abide. Hail, honour'd Nymphs ; 

Thrice hail. For you the Cyrenaic shell 1 

Behold, I touch, revering. To my songs 

Be present ye with favourable feet, 

And all profaner audience far remove. 



INSCRIPTIONS. 



FOR A GEOTTO. 



To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call 
Actsea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, 
This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, 
Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, 
Were placed by Glycon. He with cowslips pale, 
Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green 
Before my threshold, and my shelving walls 
With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon, 
Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, 
I slumber : here my clustering fruits I tend : 
Or from the humid flowers, at break of day, 
Eresh garlands weave, and chase from all my bounds 
Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in, 
O stranger, undismay'd. Nor bat, nor toad 
Here lurks : and if thy breast of blameless thoughts 

1 Cyrene was the native country of Callimachus, whose hymns are the 
most remarkable example of that mythological passion which is assumed in 
the preceding poem, and have always afforded particular pleasure to the 
author of it, by reason of the mysterious solemnity with which they affect 
the mind. On this account he was induced to attempt somewhat in the 
same manner, solely by way of exercise, the manner itself being- now almost 
entirely abandoned in.poetry. And as the mere genealogy, or the personal 
adventures of heathen gods, could have been but little interesting to a 
modern reader, it was therefore thought proper to select some convenient 
part of the history of nature, and to employ these ancient divinities as it is 
probable they were first employed — to wit, in personifying natural causes, 
and in representing the mutual agreement or opposition of the corporeal and 
moral powers of the world, which hath been accounted the very highest 
office of poetry. 



INSCRIPTIONS. 201 

Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread 
My quiet mansion : chiefly, if thy name 
Wise Pallas and the immortal Muses own. 

II. 

EOE, A STATUE OE CHAUCER AT WOODSTOCK. 

Such was old Chaucer ; such the placid mien 
Of him who first with harmony inform' d 
The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt 
For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls 
Have often heard him, while his legends blithe 
He sang ; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles 
Of homely life : through each estate and age, 
The fashions and the follies of the world 
With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance 
Prom Blenheim's towers, O stranger, thou art come 
Glowing with Churchill's trophies, yet in vain 
Dost thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold 
To him, this other hero ; who, in times 
Dark and untaught, began with charming verse 
To tame the rudeness of his native land. 

III. 1 

Whoe'ee thou art whose path in summer lies 

Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove 

Of branching oaks a rural palace old 

Imbosoms. There dwells Albert, generous lord 

Of all the harvest round. And onward thence 

A low plain chapel fronts the morning light 

Fast by a silent riv'let. Humbly walk, 

O stranger, o'er the consecrated ground ; 

And on that verdant hillock, which thou seest 

Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand 

Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew 

Sweet-smelling flowers. For there doth Edmund rest, 

The learned shepherd ; for each rural art 

Fam'd, and for songs harmonious, and the woes 

Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride 

Of fair Matilda sank him to the grave 

1 "The inscription beginning with 

" ' Whoe'er thou art/ &c, 

has a melancholy tale attached to it. This tale is faithfully told in the in- 
scription, and the person whose memory it preserves was a young gentle- 
man who came into possession of a small estate in the county of Northum- 
berland. I think that Sir Grey Cooper said that his name was Weybridge." 
— Bucke, Life of Akenside, p. 83. — W. 



202 AKENSIDE. 

In manhood's prime. But soon did righteous Heaven 
With tears, with sharp remorse, and pining care, 
Avenge her falsehood. Nor could all the gold 
And nuptial pomp, which lur'd her plighted faith 
From Edmund to a loftier husband's home, 
Relieve her breaking heart, or turn aside 
The strokes of death. Go, traveller ; relate 
The mournful story. Haply some fair maid 
May hold it in remembrance, and be taught 
That riches cannot pay for truth or love. 

IV. 

O youths and virgins : O declining eld : 
O pale misfortune's slaves : O ye who dwell 
Unknown with humble quiet ; ye who wait 
In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings : 
O sons of sport and pleasure : O thou wretch 
That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds 
Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand 
Which left thee void of hope : O ye who roam 
In exile ; ye who through the embattled field 
Seek bright renown ; or who for noble palms 
Contend, the leaders of a public cause ; 
Approach : behold this marble. Know ye not 
The features ? Hath not oft his faithful tongue 
Told you the fashion of your own estate, 
The secrets of your bosom ? Here then, round 
His monument with reverence while ye stand, 
Say to each other : " This was Shakespeare's form ; 
Who walk'd in every path of human life, 
Felt every passion ; and to all mankind 
Doth now, will ever, that experience yield 
Which his own genius only could acquire. ,, 

V. 

GVLIELMVS III. FORTIS, PIVS, LIBERATOE, CVM 

INEVNTE AETATE PATRIAE LABENTI ADFVISSET 

SALVS IPSE VNICA; CVM MOX ITIDEM EEIPVB- 

LICAE BRITANNICAE VINDEX RENVNCTATVS ES- 

SET ATQVE STATOR ; TVM DENIQVE AD ID SE 

NATVM RECOGNOVIT ET REGEM FACTVM, VT 

CVRARET NE DOMINO IMPOTENTI CEDERENT 

PAX, FIDES, FORTVNA, GENERIS HVMANI. 

AVCTORI PVBLICAE FELICITATIS 

P.G. A.M.A. 



INSCRIPTIONS. 203 

VI. 

FOE A COLUMN AT BUNNYMEDE. 

Thou, wlio the verdant plain dost traverse here, 
While Thames among his willows from thy view 
[Retires : O stranger, stay thee, and the scene 
Around contemplate well. This is the place 
Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms 
And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king 
(Then render'd tame) did challenge and secure 
The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on 
Till thou hast bless'd their memory, and paid 
Those thanks which God appointed the reward 
Of public virtue. And if chance thy home 
Salute thee with a father's honour'd name, 
Go, call thy sons : instruct them what a debt 
They owe their ancestors ; and make them swear 
To pay it, by transmitting down entire 
Those sacred rights to which themselves were born. 

VII. 

THE WOOD NYMPH. 

Appeoach in silence. 'Tis no vulgar tale 

Which I, the Dryad of this hoary oak, 

Pronounce to mortal ears. The second age 

Now hasteneth to its period, since I rose 

On this fair lawn. The groves of yonder vale 

Are, all, my offspring : and each Nymph, who guards 

The copses and the furrow'd fields beyond, 

Obeys me. Many changes have I seen 

In human things, and many awful deeds 

Of justice, when the ruling hand of Jove 

Against the tyrants of the land, against 

The unhallow'd sons of luxury and guile, 

Was arm'd for retribution. Thus at length 

Expert in laws divine, I know the paths 

Of wisdom, and erroneous folly's end 

Have oft presag'd : and now well-.pleas'd I wait 

Each evening till a noble youth, who loves 

My shade, awhile releas'd from public cares, 

Yon peaceful gate shall enter, and sit down 

Beneath my branches. Then his musing mind 



204 



AKEXSIDE. 



I prompt, unseen ; and place before his view 

Sincerest forms of good ; and move his heart 

With the dread bounties of the Sire Supreme 

Of gods and men, with freedom's generous deeds, 

The lofty voice of glory, and the faith 

Of sacred friendship. Stranger, I have told 

My function. If within thy bosom dwell 

Aught which may challenge praise, thou wilt not leave 

Unhonour'd my abode, nor shall I hear 

A sparing benediction from thy tongue. 

VIII. 

Ye powers unseen, to whom the bards of Greece 

Erected altars ; ye who to the mind 

More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart 

With more divine emotions ; if erewhile 

Not quite unpleasing have my votive rites 

Of you been deem'd, when oft this lonely seat 

To you I consecrated ; then vouchsafe 

Here with your instant energy to crown 

My happy solitude. It is the hour 

When most I love to invoke you, and have felt 

Most frequent your glad ministry divine. 

The air is calm : the sun's unveiled orb 

Shines in the middle heaven. The harvest round 

Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves 

The reapers lie reclin'd. The neighbouring groves 

Are mute : nor even a linnet's random strain 

Echoeth amid the silence. Let me feel 

Your influence, ye kind powers. Aloft in heaven, 

Abide ye ? or on those transparent clouds 

Pass ye from hill to hill ? or on the shades 

Which yonder elms cast o'er the lake below 

Do you converse retir'd? Erom what lov'd haunt 

Shall I expect you ? Let me once more feel 

Your influence, O ye kind inspiring powers : 

And I will guard it well ; nor shall a thought 

Rise in my mind, nor shall a passion move 

Across my bosom unobserv'd, unstor'd 

By faithful memory. And then at some 

More active moment, will I call them forth 

Anew ; and join them in majestic forms, 

And give them utterance in harmonious strains ; 

That all mankind shall wonder at your sway. 



INSCRIPTIONS. 205 



IX. 



Me though in life's sequester'd vale 
The Almighty Sire ordain'd to dwell, 
Remote from glory's toilsome ways, 
And the great scenes of public praise ; 
Yet let me still with grateful pride 
Remember how my infant frame 
He temper'd with prophetic flame, 
And early music to my tongue supplied. 

'Twas then my future fate he weigh'd, 
And, ' This be thy concern, (he said) 
At once with Passion's keen alarms, 
And Beauty's pleasurable charms, 
And sacred Truth's eternal light, 
To move the various mind of Alan ; 
Till under one unblemish'd plan, 
His Reason, Fancy, and his Heart unite. 1 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 1 

Theice has the spring beheld thy faded fame, 
And the fourth winter rises on thy shame, 
Since I exulting grasp'd the votive shell, 
In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell : 
Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine, 
And proud to mix my memory with thine. 
But now the cause that wak'd my song before, 
With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more. 
If to the glorious man, whose faithful cares, 
!Nor quell'd by malice, nor relax'd by years, 
Had aw'd Ambition's wild audacious hate, 
And dragg'd at length Corruption to her fate ; 

1 Curio was a young Roman senator of distinguished birth and parts, who, 
upon his first entrance into the forum, had been committed to the care of 
Cicero. Being profuse and extravagant, he soon dissipated a large and 
splendid fortune, to supply the want of which he was driven to the necessity 
of abetting the designs of Cassar against the liberties of his country, although 
he had before been a professed enemy to him. Cicero exerted himself with 
great energy to prevent his ruin, but without effect, and he became one of 
the first victims in the civil war. This epistle was first published in the year 
1744, when a celebrated patriot, after a long, and at last successful opposi- 
tion to an unpopular minister, had deserted the cause of his country, and 
became the foremost in support and defence of the same measures he had so 
steadily and for such a length of time contended against. 



206 AKENSIDE. 

If every tongue its large applauses ow'd, 
And well-earn'd laurels every Muse bestow'd : 
If public Justice urg'd the high reward, 
And Freedom smil'd on the devoted bard : 
Say then, to him whose levity or lust 
Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust ; 
Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power, 
And sav'd Corruption at her hopeless hour ; 
Does not each tongue its execrations owe ? 
Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow ? 
And public justice sanctify th' award ? 
And Freedom's hand protect the impartial bard ? 

Yet long reluctant I forbore thy name, 
Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame, 
Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes, 
And wish'd and hop'd the light again would rise. 
But since thy guilt still more entire appears, 
Since no art hides, no supposition clears ; 
Since vengeful Slander now too sinks her blast, 
And the first rage of Party -hate is past ; 
Calm as the judge of truth, at length I come 
To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy doom : 
So may my trust from all reproach be free ; 
And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree. 

There are who say, they view'd without amaze 
The sad reverse of all thy former praise : 
That through the pageants of a patriot's name, 
They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim ; 
Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw 
The public thunder on a private foe. 
But I, whose soul consented to thy cause, 
Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause, 
Who saw the spirits of each glorious age 
Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage ; 
I scorn'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds, 
The owl-ey'd race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds. 
Spite of the learned in the ways of vice, 
And all who prove that " each man has his price," 
I still believ'd thy end was just and free ; 
And yet, even yet believe it — spite of thee. 
Even though thy mouth impure has dar'd disclaim, 
L T rg'd by the wretched impotence of shame, 
Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid 
To laws infirm, and liberty decay'd ; 
Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show ; 
Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe ; 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 207 

Has boasted in thy country's awful ear, 
Her gross delusion when she held thee dear ; 
How tame she follow'd thy tempestuous call, 
And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all— 
Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old, 
For laws subverted, and for cities sold ! 
Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt, 
The oaths you perjur'd, and the blood you spilt ; 
Yet must you one untempted vileness own, 
One dreadful palm reserv'd for him alone ; 
With studied arts his country's praise to spurn, 
To beg the infamy he did not earn, 
To challenge hate when honour was his due, 
And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew. 
Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose 
From each fair feeling human nature knows ? 
Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear 
To all that reason, all that sense, would hear ? 
Else could thou e'er desert thy sacred post, 
In such unthankful baseness to be lost ? 
Else couldst thou wed the emptiness of vice, 
And yield thy glories at an idiot's price ? 

When they who, loud for liberty and laws, 
In doubtful times had fought their country's cause, 
When now of conquest and dominion sure, 
They sought alone to hold their fruits secure; 
When taught by these, Oppression hid the face, 
To leave Corruption stronger in her place, 
By silent spells to work the public fate, 
And taint the vitals of the passive state, 
Till healing Wisdom should avail no more, 
And Freedom loathe to tread the poison'd shore ; 
Then, like some guardian god that flies to save 
The weary pilgrim from an instant grave, 
Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake 
Steals near and nearer through the peaceful brake ; 
Then Curio rose to ward the public woe, 
To wake the heedless, and incite the slow, 
Against Corruption Liberty to arm, 
And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm. 

Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew, 
And with thy country's hopes thy honours grew. 
Thee, patriot, the patrician roof confess'd ; 
Thy powerful voice the rescued merchant bless 'd ; 
Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds ; 
The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns ; 



208 AKENSIDE. 

Touch' d in the sighing shade with manlier fires, 
To trace thy steps the Jove-sick youth aspires ; 
The learn'd recluse, who oft amaz'd had read 
Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead, 
With new amazement hears a living name 
Pretend to share in such forgotten fame ; 
And he who, scorning courts and courtly ways, 
Left the tame track of these dejected days, 
The life of nobler ages to renew 
In virtues sacred from a monarch's view, 
Rous'd by thy labours from the bless'd retreat, 
Where social ease and public passions meet, 
Again ascending treads the civil scene, 
To act and be a man, as thou hadst been. 

Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew, 
And the great end appear'd at last in view : 
We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice, 
We saw the senate bending to thy voice ; 
The friends of freedom hail'd the approaching reign 
Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain ; 
While venal Faction ; struck with new dismay, 
Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay. 
Wak'd in the shock the public Genius rose, 
Abash'd and keener from his long repose ; 
Sublime in ancient pride, he rais'd the spear 
Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear : 
The city felt his call : from man to man, 
From street to street the glorious horror ran ; 
Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, 
And, murmuring, challeng'd the decided hour. 

Lo ! the deciding hour at last appears ; 
The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears ! 
Thou, Genius ! guardian of the Roman name, 
O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame ! 
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll, 
And guide each movement steady to the goal. 
Ye spirits by whose providential art 
Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart, 
Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind, 
And watch his fancy, and his passions bind ! 
Ye shades immortal, who by Freedom led, 
Or in the field, or on the scaffold, bled, 
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, 
And view the crown of all your labours nigh. 
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne ! 
The sword submitted, and the laws her own : 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 209 

See ! public Power chastis'd beneath her stands, 
With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands ! 
See private Life by wisest arts reclaim 'd ! 
See ardent youth to noblest manners fram'd ! 
See us acquire whate'er was sought by you, 
If Curio, only Curio will be true. 

'Twas then — O shame ! O trust how ill repaid ! 
O Latium, oft by faithless sons betray'd ! — 
'Twas then — "What frenzy on thy reason stole ? 
What spells unsinew'd thy determin'd soul ? 
— Is this the man in Freedom's cause approv'd ? 
The man so great, so honour'd, so belov'd ? 
This patient slave by tinsel chains allur'd ? 
This wretched suitor for a boon abjur'd ? 
This Curio, hated and despis'd by all ? 
Who fell himself to work his country's fall 

O lost alike to action and repose ! 
Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes ! 
With all that conscious, undissembled pride, 
Sold to the insults of a foe defied ! 
With all that habit of familiar fame, 
Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame ! 
The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art 
To act a statesman's dull, exploded part, 
Renounce the praise no longer in thy power, 
Display thy virtue, though without a dower, 
Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind, 
And shut thy eyes that others may be blind. 
— Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile, 
When shameless mouths your majesty defile, 
Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong crew, 
And cast their own impieties on you. 
For witness, Freedom, to whose sacred power, 
My soul was vow'd from reason's earliest hour, 
How have I stood exulting to survey 
My country's virtues, opening in thy ray! 
How, with the sons of every foreign shore 
The more I match' d them, honour'd hers the more ! 
O race erect ! whose native strength of soul, 
Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control, 
Bursts the tame round of animal affairs, 
And seeks a noble centre for its cares ; 
Intent the laws of life to comprehend, 
And fix dominion's limits by its end : 
Who, bold and equal in their love or hate, 
By conscious reason judging every state, 
p 



210 AKEFSTDE. 

The man forget not, though in rags he lies, 
And know the mortal through a crown's disguise : 
Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view 
Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow, 
Or, all awake at pity's soft command, 
Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious hand : 
Thence large of heart, from envy far remov'd, 
When public toils to virtue stand approv'd, 
Not the young lover fonder to admire, 
Not more indulgent the delighted sire ; 
Yet high and jealous of their free-born name, 
Fierce as the night of Jove's destroying flame, 
Where'er Oppression works her wanton sway, 
Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay. 
But if to purchase Curio's sage applause, 
My country must with him renounce her cause, 
Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod, 
Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod ; 
Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to rail, 
Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail : 
Else, ere he change the style, bear me away 
To where the Gracchi, 1 where the Bruti stay ! 
O long rever'd, and late resign'd to shame ! 
If this uncourtly page thy notice claim, 
When the loud cares of business are withdrawn, 
Nor well-dressed beggars round thy footsteps fawn ; 
In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour, 
When Truth exerts her unresisted power, 
Breaks the false optics ting'd with fortune's glare, 
Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions bare ; 
Then turn thy eyes on that important scene, 
And ask thyself — if all be well within. 
Where is the heart-felt worth and weight of soul, 
Which labour could not stop, nor fear control ? 
Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe, 
Which, half abash'd, the proud and venal saw ? 
Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause ? 
Where the delightful taste of just applause ? 
Where the strong reason, the commanding tongue, 
On which the senate fir'd or tremhling hung ! 
All vanish' d, all are sold — and in their room, 
Couch'd in thy bosom's deep, distracted gloom, 

i The two brothers, Tiberius and Caius Gracchus, lost their lives in at- 
tempting to introduce the only regulation that could give stability and good 
order to the Roman republic. L. Junius Brutus founded the commonwealth, 
and died in its defence. 



AN EPISTLE TO CTTKIO. 211 

See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell, 
Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell ! 
To her in chains thy dignity was led ; 
At her polluted shrine thy honour bled ; 
With blasted weeds thy awful brow she crown' d, 
Thy powerful tongue with poison'd philters bound, 
That baffled Reason straight indignant flew, 
And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew : 
For now no longer Truth supports thy cause ; 
"No longer Glory prompts thee to applause ; 
~No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast, 
With all her conscious majesty confest, 
Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame, 
To rouse the feeble, and the wilful tame, 
And where she sees the catching glimpses roll, 
Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul ; 
But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill, 
And formal passions mock thy struggling will ; 
Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain, 
And reach impatient at a nobler strain, 
Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth 
Shoot through thy breast, and stab the generous birth. 
Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy tost, 
-And all the tenor of thy reason lost, 
Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear ; 
While some with pity, some with laughter hear. 
— Can art, alas ! or genius, guide the head, 
Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled ? 
Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke, 
When the prime function of the soul is broke ? 
But come, unhappy man ! thy fates impend ; 
Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend ; 
Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine, 
Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign : 
For see the hand of Destiny display 'd 
To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd ! 
See the dire fane of Infamy arise ! 
Park as the grave, and spacious as the skies ; 
Where, from the first of time, thy kindred train, 
The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain. 
Eternal barriers guard the pathless road, 
To warn the wanderer of the curst abode ; 
But prone as whirlwinds scour the passive sky, 
The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly. 
There, black with frowns, relentless Time awaits, 
And goads their footsteps to the guilty gates ; 
p 2 



212 AKENSIDE. 

And still lie asks them of their unknown aims, 
Evolves their secrets, anrl their guilt proclaims ; 
And still his hands despoil them on the road 
Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestow'd ; 
Break their proud marbles, crush their festal cars, 
And rend the lawless trophies of their wars. 
At last the gates his potent voice obey ; 
Fierce to their dark abode he drives his prey ; 
Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chains, 
The watchful demon o'er her vassals reigns, 
O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust, 
The great, the sage, the happy, and august. 1 
No gleam of hope their baleful mansion cheers, 
No sound of honour hails their unblest ears ; 
But dire reproaches from the friend betray 'd, 
The childless sire, and violated maid : 
But vengeful vows for guardian laws effac'd, 
From towns enslaved, and continents laid waste ; 
But long posterity's united groan, 
And the sad charge of horrors not their own, 
For ever through the trembling space resound, 
And sink each impious forehead to the ground. 

Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest, 
Give way, do homage to a mightier guest ! 
Ye daring spirits of the Horn an race, 
See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface ! 
— -Aw'd at the name, fierce Appius 2 rising bends, 
And hardy Cinna from his throne attends : 
" He comes," they cry, "to whom the fates assign'd 
With surer arts to work what we design'd, 
From year to year the stubborn herd to sway, 
Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey ; 
Till own'd their guide, and trusted with their power, 
He mock'd their hopes in one decisive hour ; 
Then, tir'd and yielding, led them to the chain, 
And quench'd the spirit we provoked in vain." 
But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands 
Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands ; 
Whose thunders the rebellious deep control, 
And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul, 
O turn this dreadful omen far away ! 
On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay : 

i Titles which have been generally ascribed to the most pernicious of 
men. 

2 Appius Claudius the Decemvir, and L. Cornelius Cinna both attempted 
to establish a tyrannical dominion in Rome, and both perished by the 
treason. 



THE YIETUOSO. 213 

Relume lier sacred fire so near suppress'd, 

And fix her shrine in every Roman breast : 

Though, bold Corruption boast around the land, 

"Let Virtue, if she can, my baits withstand?" 

Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim, 

Gay with her trophies rais'd on Curio's shame ; 

Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth, 

"Who know what conscience and a heart are worth. 

— O friend and father of the human mind, 

Whose art for noblest ends our frame design'd! 

If I, though fated to the studious shade 

"Which party-strife, nor anxious power invade, 

If I aspire in public virtue's cause, 

To guide the Muses by sublimer laws, 

Do thou her own authority impart, 

And give my numbers entrance to the heart. 

Perhaps the verse might rouse her smother'd flame, 

And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame : 

Perhaps by worthy thoughts of human kind, 

To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind ; 

Or dash Corruption in her proud career, 

And teach her slaves that Vice was born to fear. 



THE YIETUOSO; 
is imitation or spexsee's style axd staxza. 



" Videmus 

ISugari solitos." Persius. 

Whilom by silver Thames's gentle stream, 

In London town there dwelt a subtile wight ; 
A wight of mickle wealth, and mickle fame, 

Book-learn'd and quaint : a Yirtuoso hight. 
Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight ; 

From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease, 
JNor ceased he from study, day or night ; 

Until (advancing onward by degrees) 

He knew whatever breeds on earth, or air, or seas. 

He many a creature did anatomize, 

Almost unpeopling water, air, and land ; 

Beasts, fishes, bn-ds, snails, caterpillars, llies, 
Were laid full low by his relentless hand, 



214 AKEISTSIDE. 

That oft with gory crimson was distain'd : 
He many a dog destroy 'd, and many a cat ; 

Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drain'd, 
Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat, 
And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat. 

He knew the various modes of ancient times, 
Their arts and fashions of each different guise, 

Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes, 
Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities ; 

Of old habiliments, each sort and size, 

Male, female, high and low, to him were known ; 

Each gladiator-dress, and stage disguise ; 

With learned, clerkly phrase he could have shown 
How the Greek tunic differ 'd from the Roman gown. 

A curious medallist, I wot, he was, 

And boasted many a course of ancient coin ; 

Well as his wife's he knewen every face, 
From Julius Caesar down to Constantine : 

For some rare sculpture he would oft ypine, 
(As green-sick damosels for husbands do ;) 

And when obtained, with enraptur'd eyne, 
He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view, 
And look, and look again, as he would look it thro'. 

His rich museum, of dimensions fair, 

With goods that spoke the owner's mind was 
fraught : 
Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare, 

From sea and land, from Greece and Home were 
brought 
Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought : 

On these all tides with joyous eyes he por'd ; 
And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought, 

When he beheld his cabinets thus stor'd, 

Than if he'd been of Albion's wealthy cities lord. 

Here in a corner stood a rich 'scrutoire, 

With many a curiosity replete ; 
In seemly order furnished every drawer, 

Products of art or nature as was meet ; 
Air-pumps and prisms were plac'd beneath his feet, 

A Memphian mummy-king hung o'er his head ; 
Here phials with live insects small and great, 

There stood a tripod of the Pythian maid ; 

Above, a crocodile diffus'd a grateful shade. 



THE VIRTUOSO. 215 

Fast by the window did a table stand, 

Where hodiern and antique rarities, 
Prom Egypt, Greece, and Rome, from sea and land, 

Were thick -besprent of every sort and size : 
Here a Bahaman- spider's carcass lies, 

There a dire serpent's golden skin doth shine : 
Here Indian feathers, fruits, and glittering flies ; 

There gums and amber found beneath the line, 

The beak of Ibis here, and there an Antonine. 

Close at his back, or whispering in his ear, 

There stood a spright ycleped Phantasy ; 
Which, wheresoe'er he went, was always near : 

Her look was wild, and roving was her eye ; 
Her hair was clad with flowers of every dye ; 

Her glistering robes were of more various hue, 
Than the fair bow that paints the clouded sky, 

Or all the spangled drops of morning dew ; 

Their colour changing still at every different view. 

Yet in this shape all tydes she did not stay, 
Various as the chameleon that she bore : 

Now a grand monarch with a crown of hay, 
Now mendicant in silks and golden ore *. 

A statesman now, equipp'd to chase the boar, 
Or cowled monk, lean, feeble, and unfed ; 

A clown-like lord, or swain of courtly lore ; 
Now scribbling dunce in sacred laurel clad, 
Or papal father now, in homely weeds array'd. 

The wight whose brain this phantom's power doth fill, 

On whom she doth with constant care attend, 
Will for a dreadful giant take a mill, 

Or a grand palace in a hogsty find : 
(From her dire influence me may Heaven defend !) 

All things with vitiated sight he spies : 
Neglects his family, forgets his friend, 

Seeks painted trifles and fantastic toys, 

And eagerly pursues imaginary joys. 



216 AKENSIDE. 

AMBITION AND CONTENT. 

A FABLE. 

" Optat quietem." — Hob. 

While yet the world was young, and men 

were few, 
Nor lurking fraud, nor tyrant rapine knew, 
In virtue rude, the gaudy arts they scorn'd, 
Which, virtue lost, degenerate times adorn'd : 
No sumptuous fabrics yet were seen to rise, 
Nor gushing fountains taught to invade the skies ; 
With nature, art had not begun the strife, 
Nor swelling marble rose to mimic life ; 
No pencil yet had learn'd to express the fair ; 
The bounteous earth was all their homely care. 

Then did Content exert her genial sway, 
And taught the peaceful world her power to obey ; 
Content, a female of celestial race, 
Bright and complete in each celestial grace. 
Serenely fair she was, as rising day, 
And brighter than the sun's meridian ray ; 
Joy of all hearts, delight of every eye, 
Nor grief, nor pain appear'd when she was by ; 
Her presence from the wretched banish'd care, 
Dispers'd the swelling sigh, and stopt the falling tear. 

Long did the nymph her regal state maintain, 
As long mankind were blest beneath her reign ; 
Till dire Ambition, hellish fiend, arose, 
To plague the world, and banish man's repose : 
A monster sprung from that rebellious crew, 
Which mighty Jove's Phlegraean thunder slew. 
Hesolv'd to dispossess the royal fair, 
On all her friends he threaten 'd open war : 
Fond of the novelty, vain, fickle man, 
In crowds to his infernal standard ran ; 
And the weak maid, defenceless left alone, 
To avoid his rage, was forc'd to quit the throne. 

It chanc'd as wandering through the fields she 
stray'd, 
Forsook of all, and destitute of aid, 
Upon a rising mountain's flowery side 
A pleasant cottage, roof 'd with turf, she spied : 



AMBITION" AND CONTENT. 217 

Past by a gloomy, venerable wood 

Of shady planes, and ancient oaks, it stood. 

Around a various prospect charm'd the sight ; 

Here waving harvests clad the fields with white ; 

Here a rough shaggy rock the clouds did pierce, 

From which a torrent rush'd with rapid force ; 

Here mountain-woods diffus'd a dusky shade ; 

Here flocks and herds in flowery valleys play'd, 

While o'er the matted grass the liquid crystal stray'd. 

In this sweet place there dwelt a cheerful pair, 

Though bent beneath the weight of many a year ; 

Who wisely flying public noise and strife, 

In this obscure retreat had pass'd their life ; 

The husband Industry was call'd, Frugality the wife. 

With tenderest Friendship mutually blest, 

No household jars had e'er disturb'd their rest. 

A numerous offspring grac'd their homely board, 

That still with Nature's simple gifts was stor'd. 

The father rural business only knew ; 

The sons the same delightful art pursue : 

An only daughter, as a goddess fair, 

Above the rest was the fond mother's care ; 

Plenty ; the brightest nymph of all the plain, 

Each heart's delight, ador'd by every swain. 

Soon as Content this charming scene espied, 

Joyful within herself the goddess cried ; 

" This happy sight my drooping heart doth raise; 

The gods, I hope, will grant me gentler days : 

When with prosperity my life was blest, 

In yonder house I've been a welcome guest : 

There now, perhaps, I may protection find ; 

For royalty is banish'd from my mind ; 

I'll thither haste : how happy should I be, 

If such a refuge were reserv'd for me !" [way 

Thus spoke the fair ; and straight she bent her 
To the tall mountain, where the cottage lay : 
Arriv'd she makes her chang'd condition known ; 
Tells how the rebels drove her from the throne ; 
What painful, dreary wilds she'd wander'd o'er ; 
And shelter from the tyrant doth implore. 

The faithful, aged pair at once were seiz'd 
With joy and grief, at once were pain'd and pleas'd ; 
Grief for their banish'd queen their hearts possest, 
And joy succeeded for their future guest ; 
" And if you'll deign, bright goddess, here to dwell, 
And with your presence grace our humble cell, 



218 AKENSIDE. 

Whate'er the gods have £iven with bounteous hand, 
Our harvests, fields and flocks, our all command." 

Meantime, Ambition, on his rival's flight, 
Sole lord of man, attain'd his wish's height ; 
Of all dependence on his subjects eas'd, 
He rag'd without a curb, and did whate'er he pleas 'd: 
As some wild flame, driven on by furious winds, 
Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds ; 
So rush'd the fiend destructive o'er the plain, 
Defac'd the labours of the industrious swain ; 
Polluted every stream with human gore, 
And scatter'd plagues and death from shore to shore. 

Great Jove beheld it from the Olympian towers, 
Where sate assembled all the heavenly powers : 
Then with a nod that shook the empyrean throne, 
Thus the Saturnian thunderer begun : 
" You see, immortal inmates of the skies, 
How this vile wretch almighty power defies; 
His daring crimes, the blood which he has spilt, 
Demand a torment equal to his guilt. 
Then, Cyprian goddess, let thy mighty boy 
Swift to the tyrant's guilty palace fly ; 
There let him choose his sharpest, hottest dart, 
And with his former rival wound his heart. 
And thou, my son, (the god to Hermes said) 
Snatch up thy wand, and plume thy heels and head ; 
Dart through the yielding air with all thy force, 
And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course ; 
There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave, 
Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave ; 
Command her to secure the sacred bound, 
Where lives Content retir'd, and all around 
Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian Dight, 
And screen the virgin from the tyrant's sight ; 
That the vain purpose of his life may try 
Still to explore, what still eludes his eye." 
He spoke ; loud praises shake the bright abode, 
And all applaud the justice of the god. 



THE POET— A EHAPSODY. 

Or all the various lots around the ball, 
Which fate to man distributes, absolute ; 
Avert, ye gods ! that of the Muse's son, 
Curs'd with dire poverty ! poor hungry wretch ! 



THE POET. 219 

What shall lie do for life ? he cannot work 

With manual labour ■ shall those sacred hands, 

That brought the counsels of the gods to light ; 

Shall that inspired tongue, which every Muse 

Has touch' d divine, to charm the sons of men : 

These hallow'd organs ! these ! be prostitute 

To the vile service of some fool in power, 

All his behests submissive to perform, 

Howe'er to him ingrateful ? Oh ! he scorns 

The ignoble thought ; with generous disdain, 

More eligible deeming it to starve, 

Like his fam'd ancestors renown'd in verse, 

Than poorly bend to be another's slave, — 

Than feed and fatten in obscurity. 

— These are his firm resolves, which fate, nor time, 

Nor poverty can shake. Exalted high 

In garret vile he lives ; with remnants hung 

Of tapestry. But oh! precarious state 

Of this vain transient world ! all powerful time. 

What dost thou not subdue ? See what a chasm 

Gapes wide, tremendous ! see where Saul, enrag'd, 

High on his throne, encompass 'd by his guards, 

With levell'd spear, and arm extended, sits, 

Heady to pierce old Jesse's valiant son, 

Spoil'd of Ins nose ! — around in tottering ranks, 

On shelves pulverulent, majestic stands 

His library ; in ragged plight, and old ; 

Replete with many a load of criticism, 

Elaborate products of the midnight toil 

Of Belgian brains ; snatch'd from the deadly hands 

Of murderous grocer, or the careful wight, 

Who vends the plant, that clads the happy shore 

Of Indian Patomack ; which citizens 

In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot 

Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose 

Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate. 

Elsewhere the dome is fill'd with various heaps 
Of old domestic lumber : that huge chair 
Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne : 
Here a broad massy table stands, o'erspread 
With ink and pens, and scrolls replete with rhyme : 
Chests, stools, old razors, fractur'd jars, half full 
Of muddy Zythuin, 1 sour and spiritless : 
Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils 

1 Beer. 



220 AKENSIDE. 

Of various fashion, and of various use, 
With friendly influence hide the sable floor. 

This is the bard's museum, this the fane 
To Phoebus sacred, and the Aonian maids : 
But oh ! it stabs his heart, that niggard fate 
To him in such small measure should dispense 
Her better gifts : to him ! whose generous soul 
Could relish, with as fine an elegance, 
The golden joys of grandeur, and of wealth ; 
He who could tyrannize o'er menial slaves, 
Or swell beneath a coronet of state, 
Or grace a gilded chariot with a mien, 
Grand as the haughtiest Timon of them all. 

But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny, 
Here he must rest, and brook the best he can, 
To live remote from grandeur, learning, wit : 
Immur'd amongst th' ignoble, vulgar herd, 
Of lowest intellect ; whose stupid souls 
But half inform their bodies ; brains of lead 
And tongues of thunder ; whose insensate breasts 
JNVer felt the rapturous, soul- entrancing fire 
Of the celestial Muse ; whose savage ears 
Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor even the names 
Of the Venusian bard, or critic sage 
Pull-fam'd of Stagyra : whose clamorous tongues 
Stun the tormented ear with colloquy, 
Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent ; 
Replete with boorish scandal ; yet, alas ! 
This, this ! he must endure, or muse alone, 
Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme, 
Or line imperfect' — Wo ! the door is free, 
And calls him to evade their deafening clang, 
By private ambulation ; — 'tis resolved : 
Off from his waist he throws the tatter'd gown, 
Beheld with indignation ; and unloads 
His pericranium of the weighty cap, 
With sweat and grease discolour'd : then explores 
The spacious chest, and from its hollow womb 
Draws his best robe, yet not from tincture free 
Of age's reverend russet, scant and bare ; 
Then down his meagre visage waving flows 
The shadowy peruke ; crown' d with gummy hat, 
Clean brush'd; a cane supports him. Thus equipp'd 
He sallies forth ; swift traverses the streets, 
And seeks the lonely walk. " Hail sylvan scenes ! 
Ye groves, ye valleys, ye meand'ring brooks, 



THE POET. 



221 



Admit me to your joys," in rapturous phrase, 

Loud he exclaims ; while with the inspiringMuse 

His bosom labours ; and all other thoughts, 

Pleasure and wealth, and poverty itself, 

Before her influence vanish. Rapt in thought, 

Fancy presents before his ravished eyes 

Distant posterity, upon his page 

With transport dwelling ; while bright Learning's sons, 

That ages hence must tread this earthly ball, 

Indignant, seem to curse the thankless age, 

That starv'd such merit. Meantime, swallow'd up 

In meditation deep, he wanders on, 

Unweeting of his way. — But ah ! he starts ! 

With sudden fright ! his glaring eye -balls roll, 

Pale turn his cheeks, and shake his loos en' d joints ; 

His cogitations vanish into air, 

Like painted bubbles, or a morning dream. 

Behold the cause ! see ! through the opening glade, 

With rosy visage, and abdomen grand, 

A cit, a dun ! — As in Apulia's wilds, 

Or where the Thracian Hebrus rolls his wave, 

A heedless kid, disportive, roves around, 

Unheeding, till upon the hideous cave 

Of the dire wolf she treads ; half-dead she views 

His bloodshot eye-balls, and his dreadful fangs, 

And swift as Eurus from the monster flies : 

So fares the trembling bard ; amaz'd he turns, 

Scarce by his legs upborne ; yet fear supplies 

The place of strength ; straight home he bends his 

course, 
IS" or looks behind him till he safe regain 
His faithful citadel ; there spent, fatigu'd, 
He lays him down to ease his heaving lungs, 
Quaking, and of his safety scarce convinc'd. 
Soon as the panic leaves his panting breast, 
Down to the Muse's sacred rites he sits, 
Volumes pil'd round him ; see ! upon his brow 
Perplex'd anxiety; and struggling thought, 
Painful as female throes : whether the bard 
Display the deeds of heroes ; or the fall 
Of vice, in lay dramatic ; or expand 
The lyric wing ; or in elegiac strains 
Lament the fair ; or lash the stubborn age 
With laughing satire ; or in rural scenes 
With shepherds sport ; or rack his hard-bound brains 
Por the unexpected turn. Arachne so, 



222 AKE^SIDE. 

In dusty kitchen corner, from her bowels 

Spins the fine web ; but spins with better fate, 

Than the poor bard: she! caitiff! spreads her snares, 

And with their aid enjoys luxurious life, 

Bloated with fat of insects, flesh' d in blood: 

He ! hard, hard lot ! for all his toil and care, 

And painful watchings, scarce protracts awhile 

His meagre, hungry days ! ungrateful world! 

If with his drama he adorn the stage, 

No worth- discerning concourse pays the charge, 

Or of the orchestra, or the enlightening torch. 

He who supports the luxury and pride 

Of craving Lais ; he ! whose carnage fills 

Dogs, eagles, lions ; has not yet enough, 

Wherewith to satisfy the greedier maw 

Of that most ravenous, that devouring beast, 

Yclep'cl a Poet. What new Halifax, 

What Somers, or what Dorset canst thou find, 

Thou hungry mortal? break, wretch, break thy quill, 

Blot out the studied image : to the flames 

Commit the Stagyrite : leave this thankless trade ; 

Erect some pedling stall, with trinkets stock'd, 

There earn thy daily halfpence, nor again 

Trust the false Muse : so shall the cleanly meal 

Bepel intruding hunger. — Oh ! 'tis vain, 

The friendly admonition's all in vain : 

The scribbling itch has seiz'd him; he is lost 

To all advice, and starves for starving's sake. 

Thus sung the sportful Muse, in mirthful mood, 
Indulging gay the frolic vein of youth ; 
But, oh ! ye gods, avert th' impending stroke 
This luckless omen threatens ! Hark ! methinks 
I hear my better angel cry, " Betreat, 
Bash youth ! in time retreat ! let those poor bards, 
Who slighted all, all ! for the flattering Muse, 
Yet curs'd with pining want, as landmarks stand, 
To warn thee from the service of the ingrate." 



223 



A BEITISH PHILIPPIC: 1 

OCCASIONED BY THE INSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS AND THE 
PEESENT PREPARATIONS FOR WAR. 1738. 

Whence this unwonted transport in my breast? 
Why glow my thoughts, and whither would the 

Muse 
Aspire with rapid wing ? Her country's cause 
Demands her efforts : at that sacred call 
She summons all her ardour, throws aside 
The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump 
She means to thunder in each British ear ; 
And if one spark of honour or of fame, 
Disdain of insult, dread of infamy, 
One thought of public virtue yet survive, 
She means to wake it, rouse the generous name, 
With patriot zeal inspirit every breast, 
And fire each British heart with British wrongs. 

Alas the vain attempt ! what influence now 
Can the Muse boast ! or what attention now 
Is paid to fame or virtue ? Where is now 
The British spirit, generous, warm, and brave, 
So frequent wont from tyranny and woe 
To free the suppliant nations ? Where, indeed ! 
If that protection, once to strangers given, 
Be now withheld from sons ? Each nobler thought, 
That warm'd our sires, is lost and buried now 
In luxury and avarice . Baneful vice ! 
How it unmans a nation ! yet I'll try, 
I'll aim to shake this vile degenerate sloth ; 
I'll dare to rouse Britannia's dreaming sons 
To fame, to virtue, and impart around 
A generous feeling of compatriot woes. 

Come then the various powers of forceful speech, 
All that can move, awaken, fire, transport ! 

1 These lines, which appeared in the Gentleman' s Magazine for August, 
1738, obtained the unusual honour of a " N.B." by Mr. Urban : — " It often 
turning to our inconvenience to sell a greater number of one magazine than 
of another, and believing the above noble-spirited poem will be acceptable to 
many not our constant readers, we have printed it in folio, price sixpence, 
together with the matter at large, for which, receiving the manuscript late, 
we could not make room. And if the ingenious author will inform us how wa 
may direct a packet to his hands, we will send him our acknowledgments for 
so great a favour, with a parcel of the folio edition." — W. 



224 AKESTSIDE. 

Come the bold ardour of the Theban bard ! 

The arousing thunder of the patriot Greek ! 

The soft persuasion of the Roman sage ! 

Come all ! and raise me to an equal height, 

A rapture worthy of my glorious cause ! 

Lest my best efforts, failing, should debase 

The sacred theme ; for with no common wing 

The Muse attempts to soar. Yet what need these ? 

My country's fame, my free-born British heart, 

Shall be my best inspirers, raise my flight 

High as the Theban's pinion, and with more 

Than Greek or Roman flame exalt my soul. 

Oh ! could I give the vast ideas birth 

Expressive of the thoughts that flame within, 

"No more should lazy Luxury detain 

Our ardent youth ; no more should Britain's sons 

Sit tamely passive by, and careless hear 

The prayers, sighs, groans, (immortal infamy !) 

Of fellow Britons, with oppression sunk, 

In bitterness of soul demanding aid, 

Calling on Britain, their dear native land, 

The land of Liberty ; so greatly fam'd 

For just redress ; the land so often dyed 

With her best blood, for that arousing cause, 

The freedom of her sons ; those sons that now 

Far from the manly blessings of her sway, 

Drag the vile fetters of a Spanish lord. 

And dare they, dare the vanquish' d sons of Spain 

Enslave a Briton ? Have they then forgot, 

So soon forgot, the great, the immortal day, 

When rescu'd Sicily with joy beheld 

The swift-wing'd thunder of the British arm 

Disperse their navies ? when their coward bands 

Eled, like the raven from the bird of Jove, 

From swift impending vengeance fled in vain? 

Are these our lords ? And can Britannia see 

Her foes oft vanquish'd, thus defy her power, 

Insult her standard, and enslave her sons, 

And not arise to justice ? Did our sires, 

Unaw'd by chains, by exile, or by death, 

Preserve inviolate her guardian rights, 

To Britons ever sacred ! that their sons [eyes, 

Might give them up to Spaniards? — Turn your 

Turn ye degenerate, who with haughty boast 

Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom, 

That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought 



A BEITISH PHILIPPIC. 225 

Of joy or peace can enter ; see the gates 
Harsh-creaking open ; "what a hideons void, 
Dark as the yawning grave ! while still as death 
A frightful silence reigns. There on the ground 
Behold your brethren chain' d like beasts of prey : 
There mark yonr numerous glories, there behold 
The look that speaks unutterable woe ; 
The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye, 
With famine snnk, the deep heart-bursting groan 
Suppress'd in silence ; view the loathsome food, 
Refus'd by dogs, and oh ! the stinging thought ! 
View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs, 
The deadly priest triumphant in their woes, 
And thundering worse damnation on their souls : 
While that pale form, in all the pangs of death, 
Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all, 
His native British spirit yet untam'd, 
Raises his head ; and with indignant frowns 
Of great defiance, and superior scorn, 
Looks up and dies. — Oh ! I am all on fire ! 
But let me spare the theme, lest future times 
Should blush to hear that either conquer'd Spain 
Durst offer Britain such outrageous wrong, 
Or Britam tamely bore it — 
Descend, ye guardian heroes of the land ! 
Scourges of Spain, descend! Behold your sons ; 
See ! how they run the same heroic race, 
How prompt, how ardent in their country's cause, 
How greatly proud to assert their British blood, 
And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame ! 
Ah ! would to heaven ye did not rather see 
How dead to virtue in the public cause, 
How cold, how careless, how to glory deaf, 
They shame your laurels, and belie their birth ! 

Come, ye great spirits, Ca'ndish, Raleigh, Blake ! 
And ye of latter name, your country's pride, 
Oh ! come, disperse these lazy fumes of sloth, 
Teach British hearts with British fires to glow ! 
In wakening whispers rouse our ardent youth, 
Blazon the triumphs of your better days, 
Paint all the glorious scenes of rightful war 
In all its splendours ; to their swelling souls 
Say how ye bow'd th' insulting Spaniards' pride, 
Say how ye thunder'd o'er their prostrate heads, 
Say how ye broke their lines and fir'd their ports, 
Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes, 
Q 



226 AKENS1DE. 

Could damp your souls, or shake the great resolve 
For right and Britain : then display the joys 
The patriot's soul exalting, while he views 
Transported millions hail with loud acclaim 
The guardian of their civil, sacred rights. 
How greatly welcome to the virtuous man 
Is death for other's good ! the radiant thoughts 
That beam celestial on his passing soul, 
Th' unfading crowns awaiting him above, 
Th' exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme, 
Who in his actions with complacence views 
His own reflected splendour ; thence descend, 
Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene ; 
Paint the just honours to his reliques paid, 
Show grateful millions weeping o'er his grave ; 
While his fair fame in each progressive age 
For ever brightens ; and the wise and good, 
Of every land, in universal choir, 
With richest incense of undying praise 
His urn encircle, to the wondering world 
His numerous triumphs blazon ; while with awe, 
With filial reverence, in his steps they tread, 
And, copying every virtue, every fame, 
Transplant his glories into second life, 
And, with unsparing hand, make nations blest 
By his example. Vast, immense rewards ! 
For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind 
Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold ? 
Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call 
Of your poor injured countrymen ? Ah ! no : 
I see ye are not ; every bosom glows 
With native greatness, and in all its state 
The British spirit rises : glorious change ! 
Fame, virtue, freedom, welcome ! O forgive 
The Muse, that ardent in her sacred cause, 
Your glory question'd ; she beholds with joy, 
She owns, she triumphs in her wish'd mistake. 
See ! from her sea-beat throne in awful march 
Britannia towers : upon her laurel crest 
The plumes majestic nod; behold she heaves 
Her guardian shield, and terrible in arms 
For battle shakes her adamantine spear : 
Loud at her foot the British lion roars, 
Frighting the nations ; haughty Spain full soon 
Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth, 
Your country's daring champions : tell your foes, 



hymn to science. 227 

Tell them in thunders o'er tlieir prostrate land, 

You were not born for slaves : let all your deeds 

Show that the sons of those immortal men, 

The stars of shining story, are not slow 

In virtue's path to emulate their sires, 

T' assert their country's rights, avenge her sons, 

And hurl the bolts of justice on her foes. 



HYMN TO SCIENCE. 

e O Vitae Philosophia Dux ! O Virtutis indagatrix, expultrixque Yitiortirn.— 
Tu Urbes peperisti ; tu inventrix Legum, tu magistra Morum et Disciplinae 
fuisti : Ad te confugimus, a te Opem petimus." — Cic. Tusc. Qu-SST. 

Science ! thou fair effusive raj 
From the great source of mental day, 

Free, generous, and refin'd ! 
Descend with all thy treasures fraught, 
Illumine each be wilder 'd thought, 

And bless my labouring mind. 

But first with thy resistless light, 
Disperse those phantoms from my sight, 

Those mimic shades of thee : 
The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant, 
The visionary bigot's rant, 

The monk's philosophy. 

O ! let thy powerful charms impart 
The patient head, the candid heart 

Devoted to thy sway ; 
Which no weak passions e'er mislead, 
Which still with dauntless steps proceed 

Where reason points the way. 

Give me to learn each secret cause ; 
Let Number's, Figure's, Motion's laws 

Reveal'd before me stand ; 
These to great Nature's scenes apply, 
And round the globe, and through the sky, 

Disclose her working hand. 

Next, to thy nobler search resign'd, 
The busy, restless, Human Mind 

Through every maze pursue ; 
Detect Perception where it lies, 
Catch the Ideas as they rise, 

And all their changes view « 

Q2 



228 AKEFSIDE. 

Say from what simple springs began 
The vast ambitious thoughts of man, 

Which range beyond control, 
"Which seek eternity to trace, 
Dive through the infinity of space, 

And strain to grasp the whole. 

Her secret stores let Memory tell, 
Bid Fancy quit her fairy cell, 

In all her colours drest ; 
While prompt her sallies to control, 
Heason, the judge, recalls the soul 

To Truth's severest test. 

Then launch through Being's wide extent, 
Let the fair scale with just ascent 

And cautious steps be trod ; 
And from the dead, corporeal mass, 
Through each progressive order pass 

To Instinct, Reason, God. 

There, Science ! veil thy daring eye ; 
Nor dive too deep, nor soar too high, 

In that divine abyss ; 
To Faith content thy beams to lend, 
Her hopes t' assure, her steps befriend, 

And light her way to bliss. 

Then downwards take thy flight again, 
Mix with the policies of men, 

And social Nature's ties ; 
The plan, the genius of each state, 
Its interest and its powers relate, 

Its fortunes and its rise. 

Through private life pursue thy course, 
Trace every action to its source, 

And means and motives weigh : 
Put tempers, passions, in the scale ; 
Mark what degrees in each prevail, 

And fix the doubtful sway. 

That last best effort of thy skill, 
To form the life, and rule the will, 

Fropitious power ! impart : 
Teach me to cool my passion's fires, 
Make me the judge of my desires, 

The master of my heart. 



LOYE, AN ELEGY. 229 

Raise me above the vulgar's breath, 
Pursuit of fortune, fear of death, 

And all in life that's mean : 
Still true to reason be my plan, 
Still let my actions speak the man, 

Through every various scene. 

Hail ! queen of manners, light of truth ; 
Hail ! charm of age, and guide of youth ; 

Sweet refuge of distress : 
In business, thou ! exact, polite ; 
Thou giv'st retirement its delight, 

Prosperity its grace. 

Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause ; 
Foundress of order, cities, laws, 

Of arts inventress thou ! 
Without thee, what were human-kind ? 
How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind ! 

Their joys how mean, how few ! 

Sun of the soul ! thy beams unveil : 
Let others spread the daring sail, 

On Fortune's faithless sea : 
While, undeluded, happier I 
Prom the vain tumult timely fly, 

And sit in peace with thee. 



LOYE, AN ELEGY. 

Too much my heart of Beauty's power hath known, 
Too long to Love hath reason left her throne ; 
Too long my genius mourn'd his myrtle chain, 
And three rich years of youth consum'd in vain. 
My wishes, lull'd with soft inglorious dreams, 
Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes : 
Through each Elysian vale and fairy grove, 
Through all the enchanted paradise of love, 
Misled by sickly hope's deceitful flame, 
Averse to action, and renouncing fame. 

At last the visionary scenes decay, 
My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day, 
Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road 
In which my heedless feet securely trod, 



230 AKEIS'SIDE. 

And strip the phantoms of their lying charms 
That lur'd my soul from Wisdom's peaceful arms. 

For silver streams and banks bespread with 
flowers, 
For mossy couches and harmonious bowers, 
Lo ! barren heaths appear, and pathless woods, 
And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathom'd floods : 
For openness of heart, for tender smiles, 
Looks fraught with love, and wrath-disarming wiles ; 
Lo ! sullen Spite, and perjur'd Lust of Gain, 
And cruel Pride, and crueller Disdain ; 
Lo ! cordial Faith to idiot airs refin'd, 
jS"ow coolly civil, now transporting kind. 
For graceful Ease, lo ! Affectation walks ; 
And dull Half-sense, for Wit and Wisdom talks. 
New to each hour what low delight succeeds, 
What precious furniture of hearts and heads ! 
By nought their prudence, but by getting, known, 
And all their courage in deceiving shown. 

See next what plagues attend the lover's state, 
WTiat frightful forms of Terror, Scorn, and Hate ! 
See burning Fury heaven and earth defy ! 
See Dumb Despair in icy fetters lie ! 
See black Suspicion bend his gloomy brow, 
The hideous image of himself to view ! 
And fond Belief, with all a lover's flame, 
Sink in those arms that point his head with shame ! 
There wan Dejection, faltering as he goes, 
Tn shades and silence vainly seeks repose ; 
Musing through pathless wilds, consumes the 

day, 
Then lost in darkness weeps the hours away. 
Here the gay crowd of Luxury advance, 
Some touch the lyre, and others urge the dance ; 
On every head the rosy garland glows, 
In every hand the golden goblet flows 
The Syren views them with exulting eyes, 
And laughs at bashful Virtue as she flies. 
But see behind, where Scorn and Want appear, 
The grave remonstrance and the witty sneer ; 
See fell Remorse in action, prompt to dart 
Her snaky poison through the conscious heart; 
And Sloth to cancel, with oblivious shame, 
The fair memorial of recording Fame. 

Are these delights that one would wish to gain ? 
Is this the Elysium of a sober brain? 



LOTE. 231 

To wait for happiness in female smiles, 

Bear all her scorn, be caught with all her wiles, 

With prayers, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave, 

Bless her hard bonds, and boast to be her slave ; 

To feel, for trifles, a distracting train 

Of hopes and terrors equally in vain ; 

This hour to tremble, and the next to glow, 

Can Pride, can Sense, can Reason, stoop so low? 

When Virtue, at an easier price, displays 

The sacred wreaths of honourable praise ; 

When Wisdom utters her divine decree, 

To laugh at pompous Folly, and be free. 

I bid adieu, then, to these woful scenes ; 
I bid adieu to all the sex of queens ; 
Adieu to every suffering, simple soul, 
That lets a woman's will his ease control. 
There laugh, ye witty ; and rebuke, ye grave ! 
For me, I scorn to boast that I'm a slave. 
I bid the whining brotherhood be gone : 
Joy to my heart ! my wishes are my own ! 
Farewell the female heaven, the female hell ; 
To the great God of Love a glad farewell. 
Is this the triumph of thy awful name ? 
Are these the splendid hopes that urg'd thy aim, 
When first my bosom own'd thy haughty sway ? 
When thus Minerva heard thee boasting, say, 
" GJ-o, martial maid, elsewhere thy arts employ, 
]S"or hope to shelter that devoted boy, 
G-o teach the solemn sons of Care and Age, 
The pensive statesman, and the midnight sage : 
The young with me must other lessons prove, 
Youth calls for Pleasure, Pleasure calls for Love. 
Behold, his heart thy grave advice disdains ; 
Behold, I bind him in eternal chains." 
Alas ! great Love, how idle was the boast ! 
Thy chains are broken, and thy lessons lost ; 
Thy wilful rage has tir'd mv suffering heart, 
And passion, reason, forc'd thee to depart. 
But wherefore dost thou linger on thy way ? 
Why vainly search for some pretence to stay, 
When crowds of vassals court thy pleasing yoke, 
And countless victims bow them to the stroke ? 
Lo ! round thy shrine a thousand youths advance, 
Warm with the gentle ardours of romance ; 
Each longs to assert thy cause with feats of arms, 
And make the world confess Dulcinea's charms. 



232 AKENSIDE. 

Ten thousand girls with flowery chaplets crown'd, 
To groves and streams thy tender triumph sound : 
Each bids the stream in murmurs speak her 

name, 
Each calls the grove to sigh her shepherd's name. 
But, if thy pride such easy honour scorn, 
If nobler trophies must thy toil adorn, 
Behold yon flowery antiquated maid 
Bright in the bloom of threescore years display'd ; 
Her shalt thou bind in thy delightful chains, 
And thrill with gentle pangs her wither'd veins, 
Her frosty cheek with crimson blushes dye, 
With dreams of rapture melt her maudlin eye. 
Turn then thy labours to the servile crowd, 
Entice the wary, and control the proud ; 
Make the sad miser his best gains forego, 
The solemn statesman sigh to be a beau, 
The bold coquette with fondest passions burn, 
The Bacchanalian o'er his bottle mourn ; 
And that chief glory of thy power maintain, 
" To poise ambition in a female brain." 
Be these thy triumphs ; but no more presume 
That my rebellious heart will yield thee room : 
I know thy puny force, thy simple wiles ; 
I break triumphant through thy flimsy toils ; 
I see thy dying lamp's last languid glow, 
Thy arrows blunted and unbrac'd thy bow. 
I feel diviner fires my breast inflame, 
To active science, and ingenuous fame ; 
Resume the paths my earliest choice began, 
And lose, with pride, the lover in the man. 



TO CORDELIA. 
JULY, 1740. 

From pompous life's dull masquerade, 

From Pride's pursuits, and Passion's war, 
Ear, my Cordelia, very far, 

To thee and me may Heaven assign 

The silent pleasures of the shade, 

The joys of peace, unenvied, though divine ! 



soxg. 233 

Safe in the calm embowering grove, 

As thy own lovely brow serene ; 

Behold the world's fantastic scene ! 
What low pursuits employ the great, 
What tinsel things their wishes move, 
The forms of Fashion, and the toys of State. 

In vain are all Contentment's charms, 
Her placid mien, her cheerful eye ; 
For look, Cordelia, how they fly ! 

AHnr'd by Power, Applause, or Gain, 

They fly her kind protecting arms ; 

Ah, blind to pleasure, and in love with pain ! 

Turn and indulge a fairer view, 

Smile on the joys which here conspire ; 
O joys harmonious as my lyre ! 

O prospect of enchanting things, 

As ever slumbering poet knew, 

When Love and Fancy wrapt him in their wings ! 

Here, no rude storm of Passion blows, 

But Sports, and Smiles, and Virtues play, 
Cheer'd by Affection's purest ray; 

The air still breathes Contentment's balm, 

And the clear stream of Pleasure flows 

For ever active, yet for ever calm. 



SONG. 

The shape alone let others prize, 

The features of the fair ; 
I look for spirit in her eyes, 

And meaning in her air. 

A damask cheek, an ivory arm, 
Shall ne'er my wishes win ; 

Give me an animated form, 
That speaks a mind within. 

A face where awful honour shines, 
Where sense and sweetness move, 

And angel innocence refines 
The tenderness of love. 



234 



AKENSIDE. 

These are the soul of beauty's frame ; 

Without whose vital aid, 
Unfinish'd all her features seem, 

And all her roses dead. 

But ah ! where both their charms unite, 

How perfect is the view, 
With every image of delight, 

With graces ever new : 

Of power to charm the greatest woe, 

The wildest rage control, 
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow, 

And rapture through the soul. 

Their power but faintly to express 

All language must despair; 
But go, behold Arpasia's face, 

And read it perfect there. 





Ml 



«| 



m. m 




THE 



POETICAL WOKKS 



JOHN DYER. 



CONTENTS. 



Grongar Hill ... 

The Country Walk 

To Aurelia 

An Epistle to a Famous Painter 

The Inquiry 

To Clio. From Rome 

Poem written at St. Peter's ... 

Fragment 

Fragment in his Italian Sketch Book 

Poem written at Oriculum, in Italy, 1725 

As to Clio's Picture 

The Cambro- Briton 

The Ruins of Rome 

The Fleece 

To Aaron Hill, Esq., on his Poem called " Gideon' 
To Mr. Savage, Son of the late Earl Rivers 

A Night Prospect 

An Epistle to a Friend in Town 

On the Destruction of Lisbon, 1756 ... 

For Dr. Mackenzie's Book, " The History of Health, 

1756 

Paraphrase on part of Chapter XII. of Ecclesiastes . 
To his Son 



PAGE 
1 



11 
12 
14 

15 

16 

17 

18 

18 

21 

22 

23 

41 

111 

112 

113 

114 

115 

116 
116 
117 



JOHN DYER. 



The place of the Poet's birth is supposed to have been 
Aberglasney, in Carmarthenshire, South Wales ; and the 
most probable date is 1698. His father, a solicitor in large 
practice, died between 1716 and 1720. His mother, Cathe- 
rine Cocks, belonging to the family of that name at 
Comins, in Worcestershire, survived her husband, and 
received an annuity of three hundred pounds from the 
estate at Aberglasney. The time of her death is not ascer- 
tained. We have no anecdotes of Dyer's childhood. He 
was sent to Westminster School, of which, in 1711, Dr. 
Freind* was Head Master, and of whom Bentley said that he 
had more good learning in him than ever he had imagined. 
But Hoadly's sarcasm on his principles may outweigh 
Bentley's praise of his Latin. From Westminster, Dyer 
was called to his father's office, in which he probably took 
small delight, since he seized the earliest opportunity of 
exchanging the Law for the more attractive profession of 
an artist. No master of fine Art might be found in Car- 
marthen. Dyer, accordingly, came to London, and ob- 
tained the assistance of Jonathan Bichardson, a painter of 
eminence, who died full of years in 1745. Bichardson, 
like his pupil, is now remembered only through his pen. 
His " Treatise on Painting" was to Beynolds what the 
''Faery Queen" had been to Cowley. It gave the colour 
to his life. The same book excited the early interest of 
Johnson : for, picking it up by chance on the college 
stairs, when he was at Oxford, he carried it to his rooms, 
and read it with unbroken pleasure. We are not informed 
how long Dyer remained with Bichardson, for whom his 

* * Let Freind affect to speak as Terence spoke.'— Du nciad iv., 223. 



VI DTEE. 

regard is shown in the elegant Epistle which he addressed 
to him. Under his roof he probably met Thomas Hudson, 
a youth of his own age, also the scholar, and afterwards 
the son-in-law of Richardson, and the master of Reynolds. 
It might be wished that one passage in the pupil life of Sir 
Joshua could have been transferred to that of his poetical 
predecessor. I refer to the scene at the Auction, when 
the Devonshire lad was startled by a sudden stir about the 
door, while the whisper of " Mr. Pope !" went from lip to 
lip, and the great man entered the room, graciously touch- 
ing the outstretched hands as he passed by, and the hand 
which was to extinguish the fame of Jervas among the 
number. Dyer, is the remark of Johnson, being probably 
unsatisfied with his own proficiency, like other painters, 
travelled to Italy. The date of the journey is fixed by 
his Manuscripts, which record one escape from shipwreck, 
off Plymouth, in his voyage to Italy, in 1724 ; and another 
from banditti, among the ruins of Baise, 1725. Akenside, 
in the " Hymn to the Naiads," has painted a pilgrim 
artist, well fitted to represent the poet, whose genius he so 
much honoured : — 

From noon to eve, 
Along the river and the paved brook, 
Ascend the cheerful breezes ; hailed of bards 
"Who, fast by learned Cam, th' iEolian lyre 
Solicit ; nor unwelcome to the youth 
Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclin'd 
O'er rushing Airio, with a pious hand 
The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, 
Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp 
Of ancient Time, and haply, while he scans 
The ruins, with a silent tear revolves 
The fame and fortune of imperial Rome. 

Kippis, who wrote the notice of Dyer in the " Bio- 
graphia," and was acquainted with one of his brothers, 
relates that he frequently spent whole days in the country 
about Rome and Florence, sketching the scenery and 
monuments.^ I have inserted a few short extracts from 

* But the circumstance is mentioned in the biographical Advertisement 
prefixed to the Poems. 



DYER, VU 

the poet's journal in the notes to the " Ruins of Some." 
His prose is extremely simple and pleasing, and sometimes 
it presents a fragment which Gray might have woven into 
a letter. Take the following little picture : — 

" I am not a little warmed, and I have a great deal of 
poetry in my head when I scramble among the hills of 
ruins, or as I pass through the arches along the Sacred 
Way. There is a certain charm that follows the sweep of 
time, and I can't help thinking the triumphal arches more 
beautiful now than ever they were. There is a certain 
greenness, with many other colours, and a certain dis- 
jointedness and moulder among the stones, something so 
pleasing in their weeds and tufts of myrtle, and something 
in the altogether so greatly wild, that mingling with art, 
and blotting out the traces of disagreeable squares and 
angles, adds certain beauties that could not be before 
imagined, which is the cause of surprise that no modern 
building can give." 

The account of his delight in the works of ancient Art is 
also interesting : — 

" I take great pleasure in visiting the statues and bas 
reliefs. It is almost my every day's work : it is a pleasure 
that grows upon me prodigiously. I don't wonder that 
!N~. Poussin was so fond of them, and called even Rafael an 
ass to the ancients. There is so much strength and noble 
muscle in the Hercules, so much grace, greatness, and 
gentleness in the Apollo, so much delicacy and perfect 
symmetry in the Yenus of Medicis, and every part of the 
Laocoon is so exquisite, that nothing modern can be looked 
upon after them. JNor do the bas reliefs give me less 
pleasure, whether I examine Trajan's column, the temple 
of Pallas, the arch of Titus and some part of Constantine's, 
and especially a bas relief over the great door in the Hall 
of the Villa Borgese. It is a dance of nymphs after a 
wedding !" 

And, perhaps, the reader will remember a feature of 

E 



Vlll DYER. 

Gray's character, to which this extract shows a strong 
resemblance : — 

" There's a certain liveliness of temper found in those 
who enjoy the pleasures and happinesses of this world, 
which we do not meet with in [others.] The other even- 
ing, being weary with the labour of the day, I got among 
a set of these. They were exceeding merry, and I was 
mightily entertained, yet I could not for my life bring 
myself to laugh with any tolerable grace at the pretty 
trifles they said. One asked why I would not talk: I 
smiled and said " Yes." Another, why I did not laugh ; 
with that I stared. In short, I could not bring home my 
mmd ; I could not be among them ; till after some hours, 
and the company breaking up, which was no small morti- 
fication to me." 

Yery pleasant, too, are the gleams of affection that 
break out from his letters, when the inward eye catches a 
view of the green landscape of the Towy, among the 
Italian pines. To his mother he writes :— 

" I take the opportunity of a gentleman leaving Rome 
to write to my dear mother, and pleasure myself with 
telling her that I shall soon return, and not delay making 
myself happy in her company at Grey House. The farther 
I am from you, the more and more sensible am I of the 
tender names of mother and son ; and the longer I am 
absent from you the more you grow in my mind, and the 
dearer you are there. I have now seen the follies of many 
distinctions and the greatest heights of people, and can sit 
me down with much ease, in a very firm opinion that you 
are happier at Grey House than if you practised all the 
formalities of greatness in courts and palaces. I have 
gathered, I thank God, enough of knowledge in painting, 
to live well in the busiest part of the world, if I should 
happen to prefer it to retirement." 

And to his brother: — "Dear brother,— I wrote to you 
immediately, as soon as I arrived in Italy, in which were 
a few lines to my mother, and my brothers Tom and 



DTEE. IX 

Ben. Don't, then, be negligent, nor think the change 
great that maybe best afforded. 'Tis what I greatly want 
— something like conversation. The people here are very 
reserved and deceitful ; they seldom appear together, but 
under disguises and in holy pageantries." 

Dyer returned to England in 1726, in which year 
"Grongar Hill," "The Country Walk," and some other 
poems, were published, with the writer's name, in the 
" Miscellany" of Savage. That ingenious and unfortu- 
nate person appears to have been intimate with Dyer, who 

calls him 

An able critic, but a willing friend. 

And in the Epistle which Savage sent, " In answer to his 
from the Country," the allusion to past companionship is 
graceful and tender. After sketching the character of a 
good man, he adds — 

This may they learn, who close thy life attend, 
"Which, dear in memory, still instructs thy friend. 

The London life of Dyer brought him a different asso- 
ciate, in one of the most amiable men of that age, — I 
speak of Aaron Hill, the patron of Thomson, the for- 
bearing friend of Savage, and the moral conqueror of 
Pope. Hill had more taste than genius. He was happy 
in rhyming a compliment or a sigh, cementing blue 
stones for rockwork in his garden, or throwing off a 
sparkling criticism. Of this kind was his description of 
Milton's prose, as being "impregnable to his patience." 
Hill's tragedies were his only crimes. 

We do not know what added skill the poet brought 
from Italy. He was not idle, but made several painting 
journeys through South Wales, and the bordering English 
counties. About this period a severe disappointment 
befel him. Langhorne said pleasantly of Collins, that few 
poets have sailed to Delphi without touching at Cythera. 
Dyer hardly escaped shipwreck. He was, or fancied 
himself to be, in love: the object of his passion being a 

B 2 



X DYER. 

lady afterwards known as "the celebrated Mrs. Jan- 
some," the wife of one of the family of the Jansomes, at 
Hinkley, in Leicestershire. Her maiden name is for- 
gotten ; to her admirers she was " Clio." Beauty did 
not lose her homage when Chivalry expired — the tourna- 
ment was held by Wits, instead of Knights ; and the 
Bard challenged all opponents with a pen not less reckless 
than a sword. " Clio" was the Sacharissa of the day. 
Hill and Savage offered incense, but Dyer was the devotee ; 
and the lady encouraged him by the sympathy of praise. 
Thus we find Hill inditing a copy of verses, not below 
the common twinkle of the Miscellanies, with the singular 
inscription — 

TO CLIO, 

ON HER PRAISING MR. DYER, AND SHOWING ME SOME OF HIS 
VERSES. 

Matchless inspirer of my Muse, and me, 
Thou heaven of blended smiles and majesty ! 
Thou by whose light all other worth is shown, 
"While thou art dark, as midnight, to thy own ; 
Praising desert like his, you charm me too, 
And for your blessing him, my thanks are due. 
Mean are the minds who but their own possess, 
And reap no joy from others' happiness. 
I groan beneath their pains, whom sorrow wrings, 
And when then* hope is rising, mine has wings. 
Clio ! to deserve such praise from thee, 
Points out my friend, a bosom one, for me ; 
My sympathetic soul reveres his name, 
And my warm heart beats anxious for his fame. 
Sweet are his thoughts, and soft as evening air ; 
Joy yields his smiles, — his sighs invite despair; 
Strong is his sense, and his reflection deep, 
Wide, as his prospects, as his mountains, steep ; 
Oh ! may he still be blest with thy esteem, 
Oh ! may thy charms for ever be his theme ! 

Vast is my wonder at his fancy's flight, 

Till I remember whence his store was drawn ; 

Clio, the inspirer Clio ! lent him light, 

And spread soft influence o'er his wid'ning dawn : 

Warmed by th' enliv'ning lustre of her beams, 
His rip'ning reason burnt with conscious glow ; 



DYER. XI 

Blaz'd in the radiant charmer's starry streams, 
And shed diffusive heaven on all below. 

Oh ! thou soft sun of wit, and love's gay clime ! 
Point but one ray of thy broad shine on me, 

Then shall my kindled sonl flame out sublime, 
And glitter proudly with thy friend and thee. 

"What poet ever knew his rhymes to be shown by her 
whom they enshrined, without believing himself to be 
dear ? But Clio fanned the flame with rhymes of her 
own, which an enamoured reader might easily mistake for 
sighs. A pleasanter, or cleverer Valentine than the fol- 
lowing has seldom been received. The author had read 
Pope. 

TO MR. DYER. 



I've done thy merit and my friendship wrong, 
In holding back my gratitude so long ; 
The soul is sure to equal transport raised, 
That justly praises, or is justly praised : 
The generous only can this pleasure know, 
Who taste the godlike virtue — to bestow ! 
I e'en grow rich, methinks, while I commend, 
And feel the very praises which I send ; 
Nor jealousy nor female envy find, 
Though all the Muses are to Dyer kind. 
Sing on ! nor let your modest fears retard, 
Whose voice and pencil join to force reward ; 
Whose claim demands the lays in double wreath, 
Your poems lighten, and your pictures breathe. 
I wish to praise you, but your beauties wrong ; 
No theme looks green in Clio's artless song ; 
But yours will an eternal verdure wear, 
For Dyer's faithful soul will flourish there. 
My humbler lot was in low distance laid ; 
I was, oh, hated thought, a woman made ; 
For household cares, and empty trifles meant ; 
The name does immortality prevent. 
Yet let me stretch beyond my sex my mind, 
And, rising, leave the fluttering train behind ; 
Nor art, nor learning, wish'd assistance lends, 
But Nature, Love, and Music, are my friends. 

Doubtless the lady intended her admonition, about the 
modest fears" of Dyer, to apply to his claims as a poet 



Xll DYEK. 

and a painter, but he naturally gave to them a tenderer 
interpretation, and, like a more famous lover, spoke upon 
the hint. The result was different, for his proposal 
called forth an immediate and angry refusal. I have 
not, however, discovered very strong signs of grief in 
the poet, who speedily replaced the old worship by a 
new, and avenged himself on Clio, by transferring his 
allegiance to Myra. Celia, also, is praised, and he drops 
a melodious tear on Phillis. But good sense now came 
back to Dyer. He won a truer, if a less dazzling, heroine. 
Writing of himself, many years later, he says — " I married 
and settled in Leicestershire. My wife's name was Ensor, 
whose grandmother was a Shakespeare, descended from 
a brother of everybody's Shakespeare." 

It is stated, in the Advertisement prefixed to his works, 
that he " soon found he could not relish a town life, nor 
submit to the assiduity required in his profession ; his 
talent, indeed, was rather for sketching than finishing. 
So he contentedly sat down in the country with his little 
fortune, painting now and then a portrait or a landscape, 
as his fancy led him." About 1729, Dyer took up his abode 
at Mapleton, in Herefordshire, where his mother, the 
co-heiress of the Bennett and Cocks families, possessed 
some property. His aunt lived in the village, and seems 
to have occasioned much disquiet to her nephew by diffi- 
culties in money matters, and other circumstances. At 
Mapleton, Dyer became a practical agriculturist. Swift 
might ask Gay, " Have the farmers found out that you 
cannot distinguish rye from barley, or an oak from a crab- 
tree?" But Dyer would have been secure from the 
banter of the Dean. The Manuscripts supply an agree- 
able illustration of his rural life, in some lines, entitled 
" My Ox Duke," and written in 1735. A marginal note 
gives their history : — 

" The verses contain the truth exactly. I took the picture on 
the spot. I saw an ox running down through a field from the heat 
of the day to the first shelter. A stable happened to be open; but 



DTEB. xlll 

a heap of little pigs lay asleep at the threshold. The ox stopped, 
and stoocl in the sun with pain, yet forbore to tread them, and only, 
with his nose, tried gently to awaken them. I stood at some dis- 
tance for awhile, not a little pleased at the beauty of it. Is not 
the same humanity to be observed in dogs, horses, &c. ? Has not 
the Deity blessed all his creatures with it? If there is an excep- 
tion, let man blush at it. " 

'Twas on a summer noon, in Stainsford mead 

New mown and tedded, while the weary swains, 

Louting beneath an oak, their toils relieved ; 

And some with wanton tale the nymphs beguiled, 

And some with song ; and some with kisses rude : 

Their scythes hung o'er their heads; when my brown ox, 

Old labourer Duke, in awkward haste, I saw 

Run stumbling through the field to reach the shade 

Of an old open barn, whose gloomy floor 

The lash of sounding flails had long forgot. 

In vain his eager haste : sudden old Duke 

Stopped : a soft ridge of snow-white little pigs 

Along the sacred threshold sleeping lay. 

Burnt in the beam, and stung with swarming flies, 

He stood tormented on the shadow's edge : 

What should he do ? What sweet forbearance held 

His heavy foot from trampling on the weak, 

To gain his wishes ? Hither, hither all, 

Ye vain, ye proud ! see, humble Heaven attends ; 

The fly-teazed brute, with gentle pity, stays, 

And shields the sleeping young. gracious Lord ! 

Aid of the feeble ; cheerer of distress ; 

In his low labyrinth each small reptile's guide ! 

God of unnumbered worlds ! Almighty power ! 

Assuage our pride. Be meek, thou child of man : 

Who gives thee life, gives every worm to live, 

Thy kindred of the dust. — Long waiting stood 

The good old labourer, in the burning beam ; 

And breathed upon them ; nosed them ; touched them soft, 

With lovely fear to hurt their tender sides ; 

Again soft touched them ; gently moved his head 

From one to one ; again, with touches soft, 

He breathed them o'er, till gruntling waked, and stared 

The merry little young, their tails upcurled, 

And gambolled off with scattered flight. Then sprung 

The honest ox, rejoiced, into the shade. 

Dyer had always been serious, and recent circumstances 
tended to deepen the feeling. His health, never vigorous, 
was greatly injured by the air of the Campagna, and 
the tranquillity of the country disposed him to meditation 



XIV DYER. 

and self-knowledge. The following soliloquy appears in 

the Manuscripts, under June, 1735 : — 

Too much my soul hath fastened on the world, 

Fugacious scene ! and He hath been forgot 

By whom I am ; the all-wise, the almighty Mind ; 

Whose awful presence dwells about my path, 

Invisible : who gives and takes away : 

Before His boundless sight whose various works 

Ever in clearest intimacy lie : 

The certain Judge of all ; the living Grod : 

Him hath my soul forgot. now, ere night, 

Fair time, await my penitence of heart ; 

Ere death's tremendous night involves the wretch, 

And seals the dark irrevocable doom. 

In this frame of mind, the pastoral work, with its 
simple, earnest, and contemplative pleasures, presented 
itself with attractive looks. Dyer was ordained — certainly 
before 1740 — by Dr. John Thomas, Bishop of Lincoln. 
The ecclesiastical oversight of those days was neither 
searching nor watchful. Warburton quitted the at- 
torney's desk for the pulpit ; and an admirer sought to 
tempt Johnson with the prospect of tithes. But Dyer 
was wisely admitted among the shepherds. He had not, 
indeed, been educated with, any view to the sacred office ; 
but an old " "Westminster" would retain some Greek and 
Latin, and he brought to his task better gifts than learn- 
ing. His first pastoral charge was a " small cure in War- 
wickshire." 

In 1741, Dyer had a dangerous illness at the house of 

his friend, Dr. Mackenzie, in Worcester, to whom, on 

his recovery, he addressed a few affectionate stanzas. 

Mackenzie was also the friend of Somervile, who, in a 

pleasing epistle, entreats him not to settle in Scotland. 

Mackenzie's happy skill and pious care 
Fill all my waking nerves with glowing life, 
And day's delightful images restore, 
Wonderful artist ! 

But who was she, with kind melodious voice, 
Who oft administered the cup of health ? 
Was she the dear companion of his hours ? 
Happy Mackenzie ! 



DYER. XV 

To pour around my bed the golden day 
Was noble art : 'twas nobler yet to light 
The internal lamp, and renovate the Muse ! 
How shall I thank him ? 

Shall grateful poetry, with mellow note, 
And tuneful period, entertain his ear ? 
Shall painting meet his eye, in nature's guise, 
Sweetly delusive ? 

Or, spreading o'er the poor my wide regard, 
Shall I attune the old Arcadian reed, 
And sing the Fleece and loom ? That, that's the lay 
Pleases Mackenzie. 

We learn from the verses that the poet was already en- 
gaged upon the "Fleece." " The Hums of Rome" had 
appeared, without his name, after a long delay, which might 
be thouglit likely to improve the poem; for Walpole 
affirmed that even in Italy itself the memory sees more 
than the eyes. 

Our only knowledge of Dyer's clerical life is drawn 
from an interesting letter to Mr. Dunconibe, in which he 
tells him : " Lord Chancellor has been favourable to me. 
This living^ is £120 per annum; the other, called Xirkby, 
£110. My preferments came in this manner : Calthorpe, 
in Leicestershire (£80 a year), was given me by one Mr. 
Harper, in 1741. That I quitted in 1751, for a small 
living of £75, called Belchford, ten miles from hence, and 
given me by Lord Chancellor, through Mr. Wray's in- 
terest. A year after, through the same interest, Sir 
John Heathcote gave me this, and lately procured me 
Kirkby of Lord Chancellor, without my solicitation. I 
was glad of this, on account of its nearness to me, though 
I count myself a loser by the exchange, through the ex- 
penses of the seal, dispensations, journeys, &c, and the 
charge of an old house, half of which I am going to pull 
down." 

Dyer probably owed the kindness of " one Mr. Harper" 

* Coningsby. 



XVI DTEE. 

to the influence of relationship, the first wife of that 
gentleman having been a Miss Purefoy, of Hinckley, into 
whose family the poet's brother-in-law, John Strong Ensor, 
also married. The living of Calthorpe is still vested in 
the descendants of Mr. Harper, to whom the last known 
verses of Dyer were addressed. They are contained in a 
letter, October 6, 1757, in which he writes : — " I must let 
you know that I have abused you, and yet I hope you'll 
not be very angry. Indeed, I have not paid you off 
cleverly, as I grow dull through extreme bad health." 
The " abuse" is in this fashion : — 

Content thee, Harper, whose plain busy life 
Is all beneficence ; nor hope to hear 
Thy name within our numbers : they're the proud, 
The rich and powerful, that the Muses sing, 
Croesus or Csesar. He has long been razed 
From Fame's memorials, long ago in dust 
Been trod beneath the feet of many an age, 
Who gave the world the life -sustaining plough. 
Men lead not now their lives by moral rules ; 
Long has the shrine of virtue been destroyed, 
'Tis now an hoary ruin. Pride, and whim, 
And vice, with all her train, in antic shapes, 
Are perched on every altar : round me run 
From one to one, with bead and bended knee, 
And kiss their shrines as fashion gives the law — 
Fashion, whom you so singularly spurn, 
You, who employ the poor, and hundreds feed ! 
Gro; feed your poor; and, in this iron age, 
Leaden or wooden, learn to bear contempt. 

The name of the other friend is familiar to the readers 
of Akenside. Dyer and Wray, who were nearly of the 
same age, may have begun their acquaintance at Home, 
where Wray was, in 1726. He held the office of Deputy 
Teller of the Exchequer for thirty-seven years, and his 
interest with the Chancellor — Hardwicke — grew out of the 
appointment. The Teller was Mr. Yorke. Dyer sent a 
poetical tribute to this generous and amiable man. 



DTEE. XYU 

TO MR. WRAY. 

I wonder at their turn of mind who seek 

Lone shades and melancholy cells, remote 

From each occasion of performing good, 

While all the busy world around them rolls : 

While vice contends with virtue ; and each street 

The preacher's voice invokes. Though the fell wolf 

Pursues the lamb, and the fall'n struggling ox 

Dies in the ditch, they lend no helping hand, 

Yet dream, by contemplation, best to serve 

Omnipotence and Wisdom. Who shall teach 

Their gloomy souls to spell the prophet's words, 

Our goodness reacheth not to Thee, Lord, 

But to thy saints on earth ? You judge the point 

With better sense and heart : you walk in crowds ; 

And all your glorious moments ever use 

To aid your various neighbours. Did your hours 

In mean retirement steal away through life, 

What kind good deeds, what virtues had been lost ! 

Elgon had sunk in penury and pine* ; 

And Melibaens of his guerdon failed : 

Alexis had not reached the Muses' bowers ; 

Nor Damon fed his nocks on Wildmore fen ; 

His little children could not, round his knees, 

Have chirped such sprightly notes as now they make ; 

His wife with more than simple household cares 

Would have continued labouring ; and himself, 

Among the furrows striving with hard toil, 

Could seldom have acquired a vacant hour 

To brighten up his thoughts, and sing the Fleece. 

jN"or was Sir John Heathcote forgotten : the poet men- 
tions him with grateful tenderness, in the Third Book of 
the " Fleece." 

So thou, the friend of every virtuous deed 
And aim, though feeble, shalt these rural lays 
Approve, Heathcote, whose benevolence 
Visits our valleys, where the pasture spreads, 
And where the bramble, and would justly act 
True charity, by teaching idle want 
And vice the inclination to do good ; 
Gfood to themselves, and in themselves to all, 
Through grateful toil 

The Yorkes, too, receive a passing tribute in the Fourth 

* Sic in two copies. 



XV1U DYER. 

Book, wliere tlie author utters a wish that modern time 

might 

Restore the mimic art, and the clear mien 
Of patriot sages, Walsinghams and Yorkes, 
And Cecils, in long-lasting stone preserve ! 

They who handle the unreal trowel are seldom indif- 
ferent to its prosaic representative. Dyer improved 
the house at Coningsby, and opened in his study a small 
window, that gave him a full view of the fine church and 
castle of Tatter shall, and of the road leading to it. But 
the situation was low and uninteresting, and the poet has 
drawn a discouraging picture of the neighbourhood, and 
of his own feelings in it : — 

At length, 'mong reeds and mud, my bark sticks fast; 

So fate thinks proper, who can now sustain 

My tribe with delicacies, frogs and eels, 

'Mong reeds and mud ; begirt with dead brown lakes, 

Whose, perhaps pleasant, shores lie far unseen, 

And their blithe habitants, from wake or fair 

Returning. Even wanton Rumour scorns 

To spread his whispers here! Oh, ever blessed 

Be Avarice, who sends his desperate post 

Into these squalid regions : write, my friend, 

Speed, write upon his wings : how goes the world ? 

What's done? what's doing? what's the voice of Fame? 

Dyer could not say that his lines had fallen to him in 
pleasant places. Walter Scott often declared that, if he 
did not see the Highlands every year he should certainly 
die. To imaginative minds a landscape is a necessity. 
But Dyer had to seek it among stagnant fens, lonely wind- 
mills, rows of pollards, and fields dotted by sheep. Gray 
excused his neglect of a correspondent by the nothingness 
of his own existence, in the cold shade of Cambridge, where 
no events grew. What would he have said, or done, in the 
parsonage of Coningsby, whither neither "Bamblers" nor 
other books found their way, and which was only con- 
nected with civilization by the post ? 

But true poetry has been written in dismaller homes than 



DYER. XIX 

Coningsby : and Dyer bad days and hours when the Muse 
threw a lustre over the fens. 

In 1755, he writes, # " The work of my little f Fleece,' 
I regard as part of my business ; it generally accompanies 
my sermon and takes up half my pocket. And I can 
inform you that I am almost got to the end of my warp. 
I begin to see it plainly, and with the pleasure that Xeno- 
phon and his soldiers had, when they gained the sight of 
the Euxine, and cried out, 6 The sea ! The sea !' " And on 
the 17th of December, in the same year, his friend, Dr. 
^Mackenzie, tells him : — " I am glad the * Fleece' is sent 
abroad ; for I was afraid you watched it more than the 
people of Colchos did theirs." The poem had probably 
been entrusted to Akenside, with whom Dr. "Warton in- 
forms us, in the Essay on Pope, that he read it in manu- 
script. And here I may introduce the letters of Dyer, 
which are included in the correspondence of Hughes, which 
was published by Mr. Duncombe. They are interesting 
in every way, and leave a most favourable impression of 
the writer : — 

"Coningsby, Nov. 24, 1756. 
" Sib, — You have most agreeably increased my obliga- 
tions : and it was very kind and ingenuous to inform me 
somewhat of yourself, as, in the generous freedom of your 
spirit, you broke through the little vulgarity of fashion, 
and wrote to one whom you never saw, and to one who 
has been long out of the world. Your invitation is exceed- 
ingly engaging. The simplicity of your manner of life, and 
your regular hours, to me are luxuries. And how well do 
you set forth your entertainment in the names of "W. 
Hawkins Browne, and the author of ' Clarissa ;' and, if I 
am not mistaken, in those of ACiss Carter and ALiss Talbot.f 
What a bill of fare ! Yet old Barzillai, though invited by 
David to the highest elegancies of life, held it vain to go to 
Jerusalem, when he could no longer hear the voice of sing- 

* Manuscript. 
t A mistake, — probably for ^Miss Mulso, afterwards Dvlrs. Chapone. 



XX DYEE. 

ing men and singing women, Frailties also are trouble- 
some in company — except in Frith Street, where they are 
carried into the arms of humanity. In spring, therefore, 
perhaps I may quit my solitude here, and venture abroad 
with an hundred infirmities upon my head ; and sacrifice 
my vanity to one so benevolent as Mr. Duncombe. 

"I have not met with Dodsley's two last volumes, and 
have hitherto missed the pleasure of reading the ' Ode to 
Health.' Though headaches and sickness make me fearful 
of reading much, yet I will haste to see it ; it will par- 
ticularly suit me. I will seek it as I seek health, which 
alas ! I very much want. Your humble servant is become 
a deaf, a dull, and languid creature ; who, however, in 
his poor change of constitution, being a little recompensed 
with the critics' phlegm, has made shift, by many blot- 
tings and corrections, and some help from his kind friend, 
Dr. Akenside, to give a sort of finishing to the ' Fleece,' 
which is just sent up to Mr. Dodsley ; but as people are 
so taken up with politics, and have so little inclination to 
read anything but satire and newspapers, I am in doubt 
whether this is a proper time for publishing it. 

" I have read none of the ' Connoisseurs' — no papers 
reach this lonely place. I know not how the world goes, 
— but with Mr. Hughes, as an author, I am well ac- 
quainted, and am glad that we are to have a fuller account 
of so beautiful a poet." 

When Dyer wrote this letter he was not more than 
fifty- seven, and the allusion to Barzillai seems to be in- 
appropriate ; for we have his pathetic answer to the king's 
invitation — "I am this day fourscore years old." But, 
doubtless, ill health makes the evening shadows long and 
dark. The " Connoisseur," of which Duncombe had 
spoken, came out in the January of 1754 ; and the curiosity 
of the poet might have been stirred, if he could have fore- 
told the future honours of one of its contributors, who, in 
the greener shade of Weston, was to portray English 



DYEB, XXI 

scenery with a taste and a love not less refined and glow- 
ing than his own. Truly the " Task" would have been 
dear to Dyer. I must not omit the pleasant home-sketch 
which the same letter contains : — " We have four children 
living ; three are girls ; the youngest, a boy, six years 
old. I had some brothers ; have but one left. He is a 
clergyman, lives at Marybone, and has such a house full 
of children, as puts me in mind of a noted statue at Rome 
of the river Nile, on the arms, legs, and body of which are 
crawling, or climbing, ten or a dozen little boys and girls." 
His next letter is equally pleasant : — 

"Coningsby, Jan. 31, 1757. 
" Dear Sir, — Want of health was a cause of not writing 
that gave me concern. I hope it happens but seldom ; 
and that it was owing to what makes most people out of 
order — bad weather, the ill effects of which, here at least, 
are general. I think I never was so weather-sick ; the 
deep snows forbid me air and exercise ; and my best medi- 
cine is a friend's letter. You see how much I am obliged 
to you. Your son, also, I am obliged to ; and I am under 
strong temptation. You are adding to my bill of fare. I 
feel your kind art in twisting and strengthening the silken 
cord, which, probably in the spring, will draw me to town ; 
where, I have reason to flatter myself, I shall see, what I 
so much like and covet — two or three cheerful counte- 
nances, easy simplicity, and soft humanity ; and, if a sweet 
female voice should come in, I am still able to hear the 
murmur of music which I excessively love. Your good 
liking of those verses, ' Have my friends in the town,' &c, 
should have been acknowledged in my last. I have a 
wicked memory ; it is a great misfortune. Neither did I 
thank you for mentioning the new kind of trumpet — but 
I never use any ; for, putting my hand to my ear, I can 
give it such a form as will increase my hearing. Besides, 
cold bathing, frequent and moderate exercise, frequent 
frictions of my head and ears, warm feet, warm water with 



XX11 DTEE. 

my wine, and supperless nights, have much abated my 
deafness. 

" Mr. Dodsley, indeed, has the ' Fleece.' I did not 
think this a fit season for its publication ; but my friend, 
Mr. Wray, overcame me ; and though it has lain long ' by' 
me, not much 'before' me, 'tis now precipitated to the 
press, with such faults as must be imputed to the air of a 
fenny country, where I have been, for the most part, above 
these five years, without health, without books, and with- 
out proper conversation. I say not this in any arrogant 
sense — for, God knows, I am far from despising either the 
peasant or the country parson. 

" Good Mr. Edwards was my particular friend : even 
Mr. Wray cannot lament him more than I do. How sea- 
sonable are your presents ! They have an additional 
beauty in being new to me. Even the * Rambler' has not 
reached this place ; nor have the beams of his ' Sunday'^ 
shone upon me. You see what proofs I give you of being 
quite out of the world. Most expressive, I am afraid, is 
that one word of yours — Fuimus. 

" I am, Sir, 
" Your obliged humble servant, 

"John Dyer." 

The raw, damp air of the fens was evidently unfavour- 
able to Dyer's constitution. "He is happily situated," 
was the saying of Sir Thomas Browne, " who lives in 
places whose air, earth, and water, promote not the infir- 
mities of his weaker parts, or is early removed into regions 
that correct them."f In the March following (19th) he 
writes again : — 

"Deae Sie, — I, who want so many apologies myself, 
must be ashamed to read any from you ; but I too have 
been ill, and my coughs have been so continual and violent, 
that I dreaded the posture of writing ; yet, though it gives 

* An allegorical paper, so signed (No. 30, vol. i.), written by Miss 
Catherine Talbot. t Letter to a friend. 



DYEE. XX111 

me shame, it gives me also pleasure to observe, that your 
apology and inclination to a correspondence with me, show 
your warm benevolence ; for we, in the country, who see 
nothing but earth and sky, who hear nothing but the in- 
articulate voices of beasts and birds, cannot correspond 
with you in town upon an equal footing ; wanting bustle 
and news, we can furnish only trifles in exchange, and must 
always depend upon your generosity ; therefore the call- 
ing any letter from Coningsby ' agreeable,' gives me a clear 
view of your benevolence. 

" 'Tis my wish, forgive me, that the gout may pay yon 
many an annual visit. I would wish no such thing, were 
you a younger man, or did you not discover such a resig- 
nation as will ever preserve a relish for an useful life ; and 
useful always is the life of every good man. So that I 
cannot imagine how so many of the wise and virtuous 
Romans, &c, could, in any circumstances, approve of self- 
killing. But my thoughts grow over grave ; 'tis no 
wonder, for I am now confined by illness. Yet I can 
taste pleasure, and am rejoiced to hear that the merits of 
my generous friend, your son, are so well taken notice of 
by our humane Archbishop. I have been at Canterbury ; 
'tis an agreeable city, in a very pleasant country. 

"I never heard of any collection of letters by Mr. 
Edwards ; yet there may be such ; he gave all his studies 
a turn to criticism. Ah ! just at this moment the Stamford 
Mercury comes to me, and mentions the death of the good 
Archbishop. Your son and all mankind have lost a 
friend. 

" I am, sir, your obliged humble servant, 

" John Dyee." 

It would seem that Akenside had given medical advice 
to Dyer ; for, in an unpublished letter* from Edwards to 
TVray, April 28, 1756, he says :— " I am glad to hear that 
Dr. Akenside has recovered Dyer again ; but has Dyer 

* Quoted by Mr. Dyce in the Appendix to his Life of Akenside. 
S 



XXIV DTEE. 

recovered his poetical vein ? Alas ! I fear we shall have 
no ' Fleece' at last." The foreboding was realized with 
regard to Edwards himself, for he died at the commence- 
ment of the following year, in which the " Fleece" was 
published. 

In this poem, the definition of poetry which Milton had 
given, may appear to be fulfilled ; since, without question, 
it was the final work of a head filled, by long reading and 
observing, with elegant maxims and copious invention. 
"Not can the art of expert judgment be fairly denied to the 
author. The reception of the poem, however, was not en- 
couraging. Perhaps the literary temper had seldom been 
less genial. Zachary Grey, a fair exponent of the popular 
sentiment, could exult in the dignity which modern genius 
had attained ; when Homer was succeeded by Pope, 
Spenser by Hughes, and Dryden by Sir Richard Steele. 

Johnson reckons, among the hindrances of the " Fleece," 
the disgust which the absence of rhyme occasioned. But 
the long poems of that time, which have come down to us, 
are those in which rhyme is wanting. It is only necessary 
to mention Young, Thomson, Akenside, and Armstrong. 
The tune of the "Fleece" was musical; the subject 
wanted interest. The general reader had no eye for land- 
scape in words. Twenty years were gone, since the 
"Winter" of Thomson Uttered the counter of John Millan, 
desponding over his hazardous investment of three pounds, 
when a clergyman, chancing to take up the poem, was so 
enraptured, that he scoured the town to publish its charms. 
The critic was Robert Whatley. But time had chilled his 
ardour ; or, if living, he reposed in his prebendal stall of 
York, when the " Fleece" put forward an equal claim upon 
his generosity. No missionary of taste proclaimed its 
worth. One exception must be made. The "Monthly 
Review" did speak loud in praise of the " Fleece." The 
writer pointed out the art of the poet in varying his sub- 
ject ; the first and second books being pastoral ; the third 
and .fourth rural and sublime; the beauty of the river- 



DYER. XXV 

painting is also justly commended. This article was 
written by Dr. James Grainger, a contributor to the 
Review from the May of 1756 to that of 1753. # Grainger 
was a man of elegant scholarship and refined judgment ; 
his " Sugar-Cane" is forgotten ; but the " Ode to Solitude' , 
has noble lines. If the panegyric awoke no echo, let it be 
remembered that five hundred copies of the "''Excursion" 
satisfied the demand of the public for six years. 

Soon after the publication of the " Fleece/"' Dyer wrote 
a letter to his friend Z\Ir. Duncombe :— 

" CokqtgsbYj May 9, 1757. 

" Deae Sib, — I am in a veiy great decline of health, and 
I own to you ingenuously, that I chide and force myself 
to write to you, because I ought not only to have, but 
also to shew, great respect to one of so generous and 
friendly a disposition. I hope you have received a book 
of the ' Fleece.' Mr. Dodsley, I think, has performed his 
part very well ; but in one or two places there have hap- 
pened such alterations of the copy, as make me give my 
reader false precepts. Pray be at the pains of making in 
your book these two corrections : — 

*'•' Book 1, line 72 — 

Strike out ' Or marl vdtk clay deep mix'd f 

Write ' Or heavy marl's deep clay,' 

as it was in the copy ; but better, perhaps, thus : — - 

' Or depth, of heavy marl, be thou my choice.' 

" Line 89, 

Strike out i Upland ridge ;' 

Write ' Sheltering mound.' 

" I will not trouble you with any more, but I will 3fr, 
Dodsley, lest a second edition should happen. 

" You were pleased to inquire * when the swallows 

* Nichols' " Illustrations of the Literary History of the 13th Century." 
Yii. 226. 

S2 



XXVI DYEE. 

appear in Lincolnshire?' Indeed, I have not yet seen 
them ; bnt I am told they are skimming about my garden 
this fortnight. Nevertheless, dear sir, I yet want courage 
to determine upon a journey, and appoint a time of waiting 
on you. Besides, I am in mortar, rebuilding a large barn, 
which the late wind blew down, and gathering materials 
for rebuilding half the parsonage-house of my other living. 
These, some years ago, I should have called trifles ; but 
'the evil days are come,' and the lightest thing, even the 
grasshopper, is a burden upon the shoulders of the old 
and sickly. 

" I am, dear sir, your obliged humble servant, 

"John Dyee. 

" Pray who is Dr. Cotton ? (in Dodsley's ' Miscellanies.') 
There is good sense in his ' Fireside ;' and his ' To- 
morrow,' in imitation of Shakespeare, is excellent." 

We may regret that Dyer had no opportunity of revising 
his work. The " Winter" of Thomson originally comprised 
only 413 lines, and the last edition was expanded to 1069, 
the exquisite sketch of the man perishing in the snow 
being one of the latest insertions. But Dyer's strength 
was rapidly failing. On the 1st of August, 1757, he com- 
municates his condition to Mr. Duncombe : — 

"Dear Sis, — It grieves me that I cannot keep pace 
with your civilities — no, nor even acknowledge them in 
good time. Alas ! in anything, I can as ill acquit myself 
as a gouty man can dance ; but it cannot be helped ; I 
write to humanity. The most agreeable parcel is at last 
sent me. I have run over the ' Horace :' I will next walk 
over it. After that, I will crawl over it — not so much to 
criticise, as to be luxurious over it ; for it seems very 
correct. Since Mr. Strahan has carried his translation^ 
so far, it would be a great pity if age, or sickness, or the 
backwardness of his friends, should prevent the finishing 
of it. 

* Of the "JSneid." 



DTER. XXV11 

" Ah ! the swallows. Happy those who fly about Soho ! 
But my wiugs are uot only grown weak, they are even 
losing their feathers. I am afraid I shall never make one 
among them, though your invitations are most provokingly 
agreeable. I am so weak, and in so much pain, that this 
letter cannot be tiresomely long. 

" Believe me to be, &c, 

"John Dyee." 

He had said at an earlier season : " How much of my 
life is wasted in fruitless labours ! Methinks I am like 
Ulysses, who long, by sea and land, strove to see the 
smoke of his own chimney." The hour of rest was now 
approaching. Dyer departed from this world July 24, 
1758. Consumption is said to have been the cause of his 
death. He had composed his own epitaph in 1729. But 
I believe that no memorial of him is seen at Coningsby. 

Reader ! 

If the sepulchre 

is any lesson to thee, 

thou wilt prepare, _ 

and comfort the dying hour 

with the conscience 

of a well -spent life. 

On the death of the poet, his widow retired to the 
home of her friends in Caernarvonshire. His daughter 
Sarah died single ; and his son closed his life in London, 
April, 1782, as he was making preparations for an Italian 
tour. His youngest daughter married Mr. Alderman 
Hewitt, of Coventry, and lived so late as May, 1830 ; and 
another became the wife of Mr. G-aunt, a clergyman at 
Birmingham. The eldest daughter of the poet is repre- 
sented by Mr. W. H. Dyer Longstaffe, F.S.A., author of 
a " History of Darlington ;" his eldest brother, Eobert, by 
the widow of Sir Charles Napier, the late Governor of 
Scinde ; and Mr. Justice Creswell, of the Common Pleas, 
is also a descendant. 

The character of Dyer was gentle, unaffected, and 



XXV111 DYER,. 

devout. His " Prayers and Meditations" commence in 
1726. " I have long ago," he writes, " even in the be- 
ginning of my youth, embraced these happy resolutions — 
to fling away from myself as many wants as my nature 
can neglect, and do to others whatever good I can." And 
again — " I plainly believe that we are all in that state of 
life which is most suitable to us. To this persuasion 
many observations have inclined me; and that every 
change of fortune (whatever may be our endeavours) is 
secretly guided to its proper benefit." 

During his residence in Rome, he seems to have medi- 
tated a poem upon that love for mankind which, in G-ospel 
language, is called charity. An interview with Hough, 
the good Bishop of Worcester, made a deep impression 
on his memory. In a conversation with Captain Congreve 
and the poet, that prelate spoke to this effect : — " I have an 
aversion to religious controversies. Our behaviour to those 
who differ from us is usually very unchristian. To treat 
men of all persuasions — even the Jew — all mankind, as our 
brothers ; to love one another ; to fold the arms of benevo- 
lence round all: this is Christianity, if I know it." The 
rough ideas of the poem are extremely characteristic of 
the author, and for that reason a few of the more finished 
lines are added. The poem was to have been entitled 
"Love One Another." 

' ' Behold the helpless babe — will not the mother rock the cradle ? 
— And if the mother dead before it lies — is not each that passes by 
moved with an inclination to assist it ? — This link continues, 
brethren, from the cradle to the grave." 

Frailties have we all — our fathers ask mercy. 

Weak are we all — our weaknesses ask compassion. 

Liable are we to misfortunes — our afflictions ask pity. 

No man sufficient — the wealthy requires the labour of the poor, 

And the poor the aid of the wealthy — how are we bound together. 

Brother and sister — kindred of the world. 

Love one another — love the hand, the foot, 

Head love the body — hand assist the foot. 

Of one Creator — of one Parent all, 

All of one structure — of one nature formed. 

One is our task — we travel pilgrims all 



DYER. XXIX 



To one — be it so — to one eternal home 

We travel on, the same — 

Surround us all the same perplexities, 

The same our frailties — let us journey then, 

Together journey with harmonious pace, 

And aid each other in our pilgrimage. 



What a very great divine applies to the professors of the Romish 
religion, may, I am afraid (in some degree), be applied to the pro- 
fessors of ours. They are in no degree so zealous and diligent in 
reforming men's manners, nor so cruel in punishing the most enor- 
mous immoralities, as they are in forcing men oyer into their sect 
or party. 

5 Tis he who loves his brother loves his God : 

'Tis he believes, whose virtues shine abroad. 

Mean infidel, attend ! The man who gives, 

Clothes, feeds, cheers, loves ; believe that he believes. 

Scaffolds are slighted when the pile is raised : 

Means are for ends ; and common sense be praised. 



God be merciful unto us : we only of all thy creatures are capable 
of and obliged to religion or goodness, and yet are ever wicked, and 
pretend hypocritically not to see the way our conscience lights us 
to, neither will we hear the voice of that most amiable Being who 
continually calls to us " Love one another — by this mark it shall be 
known that you are the disciples of Grod, if ye have love one to 
another." 

gracious Grod, whose Love created all, 

We don't presume more mercy to implore 

Than we to one another mercy show. 

'Tis ours to wish forgiveness, and forgive; 

'Tis ours to covet blessing, and to bless : 

To do thy will with purity of heart — 

" Glory to thee, Grod, and peace on earth." 

The sermons of Dyer dwell largely upon this attractive 
aspect of our faith. His prose is easy and vigorous, and 
has about it a homeliness of sincerity that is very engaging. 
His doctrine is reflected in the following earnest pas- 
sages : — 

TRUE RELIGION. 

It is a gross mistake in him whoever imagines that the God of 
all wisdom and goodness, the God for ever of all perfection and 
blessedness, requires of us ultimately more than to do justly, to 
love mercy, and to walk humbly before him. Our goodness ex- 



XXX DTEE. 

tencletli not unto thee, Lord, but unto thy saints upon earth. 
Through a want of this consideration, the great means of happiness 
often becomes a means of misery. For Religion, which should con- 
duce to our peace, is made a cause of contention : Religion, which 
should promote charity, occasions persecution : Religion, which 
should afford us peace and serenity of mind, creates difficulty and 
despondency. Religion ! — really pride, hypocrisy, and falsehood, 
usurping that sacred character. For Religion, our easy obligation, 
our reasonable service, is, essentially, no more than the sweet and 
natural exercise of our hearts in the imitation of our Creator's 
goodness, and in showing forth our gratitude to him, and glorifying 
him, by loving one another, by being fruitful in good works. 

THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 

All holy men have, in their several proportions, answered the 
character of the Baptist, who was a burning and a shining light. 
They have been eminent for their acts of piety : eminent, in dangers, 
for the open declaration and profession of their faith : eminent for 
their liberality and charity, — honouring Gfod with their substance, 
as Solomon expresses it : eminent for their labours in relieving the 
oppressed, reducing the vicious, instructing the ignorant, convincing 
those that are in error, strengthening the weak, satisfying the 
doubtful, and guarding religion and virtue from the attempts of its 
enemies on every side * 

THE EVILS OF CONTROVERSY. 

Learned and curious controversies do not often happen ; they 
seldom arise from necessity, and never mend the heart. The prin- 
cipal business therefore of a minister is, to confirm the poor in 
diligence, in truth, and righteousness; to persuade the wealthy to 
be humble and temperate and benevolent ; to guard men, in their 
several occupations, against their peculiar temptations ; that agree- 
ably to the main intent of religion, they may become good parents, 
good masters, good servants, and good subjects. + 

Dyer was not only kind and loving in theory and 
teaching. The good seed came up in corn. The sim- 
plicity of his verse is reported to have been visible in his 
manners, and was joined "to a liberal turn of thinking 
which seldom solicited a favour, and never lost a friend, "f 
He who rarely tries his friends is of course likely to keep 
them. But Dyer's experience was not so encouraging as 
this statement implies. In the " Manuscripts" he re- 
marks : — " For the future, I am resolved to be as cautious 

* Sermon, 1741, in praise of Activity. t Visitation Sermon. 

% Advertisement prefixed to the Poems of Dyer. 



DYER. XXXI 

of receiving favours as I am wishful of bestowing them, 
since my spirit has been so deeply vexed by some who 
have formerly obliged me." 

Dyer is to be considered as a painter and a poet. Sir 
George Beaumont, whose name is embalmed in our 
language, was most anxious to obtain some fruits of his 
pencil. Of these few remain. There is an altar-piece at 
]N"ewtown, Monmouthshire, which is attributed to Dyer. 
A descendant, in Leamington, has a fine head of Christ, 
with the same tradition ; and Mr. W. H. Longstaffe pos- 
sesses numerous sketches of Italian scenery. Dyer 
painted in oils, but succeeded best in crayon sketches. 
Frequently he used only pen and ink, with very happy 
results. 

It is impossible to forget that about fifteen years after 
the birth of Dyer, Richard Wilson saw the light in a par- 
sonage of North Wales. An anecdote which is told of 
him suggests a satire and a moral. Wilson was urging an 
acquaintance to purchase a picture, and at length he 
answered the importunity of the artist by taking him into 
a garret, where a pile of landscapes stood against the wal], 
and saying — " Why, look ye, Dick, you know I wish to 
oblige you ; but, see, there's all the stock I have had of 
you for these three years." The pictures of Dyer might 
want the genius of Wilson, but they shared the neglect. 

'Nov has his poetical fortune been much brighter. We 
have works of Dyer in three styles — the rural, in " Gron- 
gar Hill;" the picturesque, in the " Ruins of Home;" the 
didactic and descriptive, in the "Fleece." " Grongar Hill" 
is a sweet sketch. The early pen of Milton might not 
have disdained some of its fresh and dewy touches. But 
it is not a mere copy from nature. Pope observed of 
moral reflections in a description, that we seem to have 
Virtue put upon us by surprise, and are pleased to find a 
thing where we should never have looked to meet it. Dr. 
Warton illustrates the remark from the writings of Pope 
himself, Virgil, Denham, and Gray; but he regards Dyer 



XXX11 DYER. 

as equal to any English poet in this art of oblique in- 
struction, into which he often steals imperceptibly. He 
specifies the moralizing of the landscape from Grongar 
Hill, and adds a beautiful comment, that our feelings, 
in reading the poem, are the same as when, in wandering 
through a wilderness or grove, we suddenly behold, in the 
turning of the walk, a statue of some Virtue, or Muse. 
This is the sentiment which raises Ruisdael above Gains- 
borough. 

The " Ruins of Rome" is the example of Dyer's genius 
in its picturesque style. Dr. Warton said that it deserved 
a perusal for the sake of its reflections. He might as well 
have called Westminster Abbey worth a visit for its 
tombs. The "Ruins of Rome" is a noble work of art. 
James Hervey — in the judgment of Southey, the worst 
writer, and therefore the most popular in his generation — 
defined the merits of the poem with singular delicacy of 
taste and truth of expression : — 

" I know not any performance, in which the transitory 
nature of the most durable monuments of human grandeur, 
is hinted with such a modest air of instruction, or their 
hideous ruin described in such a pomp of pleasing horror, 
as in a small but solemn, picturesque, and majestic poem, 
entitled the " Ruins of Rome," written by the Rev. Mr. 
Dyer, whom the reader (if he has the pleasure of perusing 
that beautiful piece) will easily perceive to have taken his 
draughts from the originals themselves, as nothing but the 
sight of those magnificent remains could have inspired the 
lines with such vivacity." 4 ^ He then quotes the sublime 
verses, beginning " The pilgrim oft," and which were parti- 
cularly noticed by Mr. "Wordsworth, as "a beautiful instance 
of the modifying and investive power of imagination. 5 ' 

The most accomplished critic could not have charac- 
terised the poem by three juster or more suggestive 
epithets than " solemn, picturesque, and majestic." It 

* " Meditations and Contemplations" — Reflections on a Flower-Garden. 



DYER. XXXlli 

affects me like a landscape by Poussin. Why Johnson 
affirmed the title to raise greater expectations than the 
performance gratifies, I do not know ; but the student of 
our poetry will hardly discover strains of a higher mood, 
than the opening view of the ruins : — 

The solemn scene 
Elates the soul, while now the rising sun 
Flames on the rains in the purer air, 
Towering aloft upon the glittering plain, 
Like broken rocks, a vast circumference ; 
Rent palaces, crushed columns, rifled moles, 
Fanes rolled on fanes, and tombs on buried tombs. 

Or of the meditating man — 

The pilgrim oft, 
At dead of night, 'mid his oraison hears, 
Aghast, the voice of Time disparting towers, 
Tumbling all precipitate down -dashed, 
Battling around, loud thundering to the moon. 

Or of the Palatine— 

I raise 
The toilsome step up the proud Palatine, 
Through spiry cypres groves, and towering pine, 
Waving aloft o'er the big ruin's brows, 
On numerous arches reared ; and frequent stopped, 
The sunk ground startles me with dreadful chasm, 
Breathing forth darkness from the vast profound 
Of aisles and halls within the mountain's womb. 

Or of the 

musically falling founts, 
To slake the clammy lip ; adown they fall 
Musical ever. 

The magnificent line which I have put into italics is not 
excelled by any verse in Milton. 

The third example of Dyer's manner is yet to be con- 
sidered. Scott, of Amwell, pronounced the " Fleece" to be 
the noblest didactic poem in our literature. It has received 
the more precious praise of Wordsworth. The passage 
occurs in a letter to Lady Beaumont, 'Nov. 20, 1811. " If 
you have not read the ' Fleece,' I would strongly re- 
commend it to you. The character of Dyer, as a patriot, 



XXXIV DYER. 

a citizen, and a tender-hearted friend of humanity, was, in 
some respects, injurious to him as a poet, and has induced 
him to dwell, in his poem, upon processes which, however 
important in themselves, were unsusceptible of being 
poetically treated. Accordingly, his poem is, in several 
places, dry and heavy ; but its beauties are innumerable, 
and of a high order. In point of imagination, and purity 
of style, I am not sure that he is not superior to any 
writer in verse since the time of Milton." 

Luminous arrangement is essential to such a composi- 
tion ; and the " order" of the " Fleece" is clear and 
pleasing. The four books exhibit the stages of the progress 
of a national occupation : the care of sheep, the prepara- 
tion of wool, the labour of the loom, and the export of the 
manufacture. * " The subject, sir," exclaimed Johnson, 
with his imperial air, " cannot be poetical. How can a 
man write poetically of serges and druggets?" In the 
same way, he might have been answered, as Virgil wrote 
of ploughs. But Johnson had never read the " Fleece," 
or he would have known that the wool-comber is only a 
figure in the panorama which the poet causes to pass 
before our eyes. The injustice of the criticism was 
shown by an elegant contemporary, Potter, the trans- 
lator of iEschylus : — " If the ' Fleece' be now universally 
neglected, let me join my testimony to that of Akenside, 
that such neglect is a reproach to the reigning taste. The 
poem is truly classical. To say that * Dyer's mind is not 
unpoetical,' is parsimonious praise. He had a benevolent 
heart, a vigorous imagination, and a chastised judgment ; 
his style is compact and nervous : his numbers have har- 
mony, spirit, and force." 

It is not denied that several pages of the " Fleece" are 
unattractive and tedious. The sunshine does not play in 
the stream all the way. When the poet is a teacher, his 
picture becomes a lesson. Few readers of the " Task" 

* See Drake, " Literary Hours," No. xri. 



DTEE. XXXV 

linger over Cowper's episode on cucumbers; yet even 
these little intervals of clulness bring their compensation. 
Dryden long ago told us that some parts of a poem require 
decoration, and others are to be cast into shadow, the 
most beautiful passages being clothed in the richest colours 
and the choicest words ; while many things ought to be 
simple, and even mean, in their apparel. 

JNor may we lose sight of the intention of the poet. 
Dyer did not consider his subject alone, or chiefly, in the 
light of imagination. There was much practical sense in 
his views of life. He connected the advancement of 
trade with the growth of religion ; and made large col- 
lections for a commercial map of England, with a parti- 
cular reference to the improvement of transit. In the 
8th book of the "Excursion," after describing the effect 
of civilization upon the rude Cumberland valleys, Mr. 
Wordsworth remarks, in a note, that " it is impossible not 
to recollect with gratitude the pleasing picture which, in 
the poem of the ' Eleece,' the excellent and amiable Dyer 
has given of the influences of manufacturing industry upon 
the face of this island. He wrote at a time when ma- 
chinery was just beginning to be introduced, and his 
benevolent heart prompted him to augur from it nothing 
but good." 

The poet must pay the debt of the patriot; and his 
readers may be pardoned, if they turn over with impatient 
finger the account of the Sheffield forges, and Paul's 
engine for cotton. Who, except Crabbe, has made a 
workhouse poetical ? Several pages of the " Eleece" 
should have been spread into a pamphlet. But when 
every abatement is made, the poem is still full* of fancy, 
elegance, and truth. Everywhere the eye is charmed 
with sweet pictures, or the mind is soothed by pure and 
gentle thoughts and wisdom. 

Read the exquisite home-scene : — 

Only a slender tuft of useful ash, 

And mingled beech and elm, securely tall, 



XXXVI DYER. 

The little smiling cottage warm embower' d ; 
The little smiling cottage, where at eve 
He meets his rosy children at the door, 
Prattling their welcomes. 

Or the appeal to pity in behalf of the lamb : — 

Tott'ring in weakness by his mother's side. 

In thine arms 
Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft, 
Between the lark's note and the nightingale's, 
His hungry bleating still with tepid milk ; 
In this soft office may thy children join, 
And charitable actions learn in sport. 
Nor yield him to himself, ere vernal airs 
Sprinkle thy little croft with daisy flow'rs. 

Or a sheep-shearing, when, — 

the old apart, upon a bank reclin'd, 

Attend the tuneful carol, softly mixt 
With ev'ry murmur of the sliding wave, 
And ev'ry warble of the feather' d choir ; 
Music of Paradise I ivhich still is heard> 
When the heart listens. 

Or the overthrow of Tyre : — 

while the admiring world 

Crowded the streets : Ah ! then the hand of pride 
Sow'd imperceptible his poisonous weed, 
Which crept destructive up her lofty domes, 
As ivy creeps around the graceful trunk 
Of some tall oak. Her lofty domes no more, 
Not ev'n the ruins of her pomp remain, 
Not ev'n the dust they sunk in ; by the breath 
Of the Omnipotent, offended, hurl'd 
Down to the bottom of the stormy deep. 

Or " A Calm at Sea :"— 

See, through the fragrance of delicious airs, 
That breathe the smell of balms, how traffic shapes 
A winding voyage, by the lofty coast 
Of Sofala, thought Ophir, in whose hills 
Ev'n yet some portion of its ancient wealth 
Remains, and sparkles in the yellow sand 
Of its clear streams, though unregarded now ; 
Ophirs more rich are found. With easy course 
The vessels glide ; unless their speed be stopp'd 
By dead calms, that oft lie on those smooth seas 
While ev'ry zephyr sleeps ; then the shrouds drop ; 
The downy feather on the cordage hung 



DYEE. XXXVll 

Cloves not ; the fiat sea shines like yellow gold, 
Fus'd in the fire ; or like the marble floor 
Of some old temple wide ; but where so wide, 
In old or later time, its marble floor 
Did ever temple boast as this, which here 
Spreads its bright level many a league around ? 
A t solemn distances its pillars rise, 
SofaVs blue rocks, Mozambitfs palmy steeps. 
And lofty Madagascar's glittering shores. 

If the poetry of the last one hundred years contain a 
description more picturesque and lovely, I shall be re- 
joiced to read it. Thomson exhibits a " sheep-shearing," 
in " Summer," admirable in its scenery, colour, and 
grouping. We see the troubled nock driven to the deep 
pool which the running brook has formed, — 

And oft the swain, 
On some impatient seizing, hurls them in ; 
Emboldened then, nor hesitating more, 
Fast, fast they plunge amid the flashing wave, 
And panting labour to the farther shore. 
Repeated this, till deep the well-wash' d fleece 
Has drunk the flood. 
Heavy and dripping, to the breezy brow 
Slow move the harmless race ; where, as they spread 
Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, 
Inly disturb 'd, and wondering what this wild 
Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints 
The country fill, and, toss'd from rock to rock, 
Incessant bleatings run around the hills. 

Summer, 393. 
!Now compare Dyer : — 

First, howe'er, 
Drive to the double fold, upon the brim 
Of a clear river, gently drive the flock, 
And plunge them one by one into the flood : 
Plunged in the flood, not long the straggler sinks 
With his white flakes that glisten through the tide ; 
The sturdy rustic, in the middle wave, 
Awaits to seize him rising ; one arm rears 
His lifted head above the limpid stream, 
"While the full clammy fleece the other laves 
Around, laborious, with repeated toil ; 
And then resigns him to the sunny bank, 
Where bleating loud he shakes his dripping locks. 

Dyer's sense of melody was quick and luxuriant, and 

he suited the verse to the subject of it; the tumbling 



XXXV111 DTEE. 

tower, the niglitingale's note, or the murmur of the foun- 
tain. Spence discovered in Pope, whenever he described 
water, a management of words peculiarly delicate ; and 
the same ingenuity I have noticed in Dyer. He also uses 
the prefix #, as in " a-dotvn" &c, with skill and success. 
In all the curiosities of sweet sound he was a master, and 
anticipated more than one artifice which living poets have 
made alluring. In his lyric measures the cadence is agree- 
ably varied by the triplet. His language is pure and 
lucid, an occasional Latinism, or hard word, being the 
only blemishes. The Muse shines through her veil in 
beauty, and, like Penelope, shaded but not hidden, delights 
the eyes of her suitors. 

Dyer's masters in poetry were Spenser and Milton. 
His obligations to Milton are most apparent. I have traced 
him continually in "Paradise Lost" and " Comus." Put 
Spenser, doubtless, had his love : for what pilgrim of 
fancy does not visit that tomb ? In early life, Dyer 
abstracted the finer passages of both authors into small 
pocket-books, and in a minute hand. A few passages 
from Pope, Prior, Green, and A. Hill, are also found. 
But the only quotation from Shakespeare is, " She never 
told her love," &c. To the Bible he resorted, not only as 
a Christian, but a poet. He considered it to be a treasure- 
house of the costliest imagery ; full of pearls of great 
price ; and he has illuminated several descriptions and 
morals with its splendour. He was likewise in the habit 
of pencilling down a thought or a verse, as it came into 
his mind; sometimes original, occasionally a remembrance, 
coloured in the passage. These he introduced in his 
Poems. The following specimens are taken from manu- 
scripts between 1726 and 1740 : — 

When o'er the ocean eVn 
High tower the azure hills, whose gilded rocks 
Glitter unnumber'd hues, — as summer skies 
At evening, which the philosophic soul, 
On the green mead, with sweet delight beholds, 
Light after light decaying. 



DYEK. XXXiX 

When shoots the setting sun 
His yellow beams among the gloomy trees, — 

While the tall wood, 
O'er the long level of the verdant lawn, 
Extends the lengthening shade. 

Incessant thundering through the lonely wild, 
The weight of many waters falling down, 
Down the tall rock tremendous, down profound 
Into the boiling deep. 

Behold the day spring o'er the distant hills, 
Streaming around variety of lights : 
How beautiful ! 



Where, then, is Dyer to be placed among his English 
brethren? According to that writer who has done the 
most to degrade him, he is " not a poet of bulk and dignity 
sufficient to require an elaborate criticism." But Mr. 
Potter asked if Dr. Johnson estimated poetical merit, as 
Hubens did feminine beauty, by the stone. Johnson 
reported the saying of Akenside — " That he would regulate 
his opinion of the reigning taste by the fate of Dyer's 
' Fleece ;' for, if that were ill received, he should not think 
it any longer reasonable to expect fame from excellence." 
Gray, too often deaf to the wisest charming of his con- 
temporaries, had the courage to tell Walpole — " Mr. Dyer 
(here you will despise me highly) has more of poetry in his 
imagination than almost any of our number, but rough 
and injudicious." Gray might safely count on the con- 
tempt of his correspondent. Dyer is a minor poet only 
in the sense in which Gray is one, because he wrote so 
little. Wordsworth's admiration of him has been already 
mentioned. In another place he numbers Dyer with 
Thomson and Collins, as more richly endowed with 
imagination than any poets of that age, unless Chatterton 
be included. Pope is left out because he stands alone. 
And surely if a "meek Child of Mature " has ever been 
amongst us, we may not look for him only in the groves 
of Richmond ; the drearier fields of Coningsby have known 

T 



xl DYER. 

his footstep. Let me hope that Dyer's pilgrimage of fame 
has yet to end in triumph — when he shall have gained from 
the many the sympathy and the love, which he has long 
ago won from the few. 

Bard of the Fleece ! whose skilful genius made 

That work a living landscape fair and bright ; 

Nor hallow' d less with musical delight 

Than those soft scenes, thro' which thy childhood strayed, 

Those southern tracts of ' Cambria, ' deep embayed, 

With green hills fenced, with ocean's murmur lulled ; 

Though hasty fame hath many a chaplet culled 

For worthless brows, while in the pensive shade 

Of cold neglect she leaves thy head ungraced : 

Yet pure and powerful minds, hearts meek and still, 

A grateful few, shall love thy modest lay, 

Long as the shepherd's bleating flock shall stray 

O'er naked Snowdon's wide aerial waste, — 

Long as the thrush shall pipe on Grrongar Hill. l 

1 Wordsworth. 



POEMS OF 




GRONGAE HILL. 



[The Yale of the Towy embraces, in its winding course of fifteen 
miles, some of the loveliest scenery of South Wales. If it be less 
cultivated than the Yale of Usk, its woodland views are more 
romantic and frequent. The neighbourhood is historic and poetic 
ground. From Grrongar Hill the eye discovers traces of a Roman 
Camp ; Grolden Grove, the home of Jeremy Taylor, is on the oppo- 
site side of the river ; Merlin's chair recals Spenser ; and' a farm- 
house near the foot of Llangumnor Hill brings back the memory of 
its once genial occupant, Richard Steele. Spenser places the cave 
of Merlin among the dark woods of Dinevawr : — 

To Maridunum, that is now, by change 

Of name, Cayr-merdin called, they took their way : 

There the wise Merlin whilom wont, they say, 

To make his wonne, low underneath the ground, 

In a deep delve, far from the view of day ; 

That of no living wight he mote be found, 
When so he counsell'd, with his sprights encompast round. 

And if thou ever happen that same way 

To travel, go to see that dreadful place : 

It is a hideous, hollow, cave-like bay 

Under a rock, that lies a little space 

Prom the swift Barry, tumbling down apace, 

Amongst the woody hills of Dinevowre : 

But dare thou not, I charge, in any case 

To enter into that same baleful bow'r, 
For fear the cruel fiends should thee unwares devour. 

But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear ; 

And there such ghastly noise of iron chains, 

And brazen caudrons thou shalt rumbling hear. 

Which thousand sprights with long-enduring pains 

Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains. 

And oftentimes great groans, and grievous stounds, 

When too huge toil, and labour, them constrains. 

And oftentimes loud strokes, and ringing sounds 
From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds. 
T 2 



I DYER. 

This is the landscape which Dyer celebrates. Tradition points 
out a blackthorn, on the top of Gfrongar Hill, under the shade of 
which he composed his verses. The subject had engaged his 
thoughts from boyhood. There is a fragment, written when he was 
about sixteen years old, both interesting in itself and in its relation- 
ship to the later and completer work : — 

And here a silent quiet walk is made, 

Straight onward running in the greenwood shade : 

How beautiful, upon soft mossy beds, 

These living pillars rise, with noble heads. 

Unto the thoughtful muse, this bowery aisle 

Exceeds all those, within the towering pile 

Of huge Ephasia, swelling to the skies ; 

Or ancient Babel, of stupendous size ; 

Or great Saint Peter, pride of modern Eome ; 

Or stately Paul, Augusta's sacred dome : 

Though there, a ground of polished marbles seen, 

And, here, but vivid turf of gloomy green ; 

The sculptor's art although those pillars wear, 

And these in Nature's rustic work appear; 

Although their works glare round with fretted gold, 

And here but azure spangles we behold, 

And intermingling leaves that softly twine, 

And, roundly branching from their pillars, join 

To form a living roof, and shade the tuneful nine. 

Ten years afterwards, 1726, the poem appeared in Savage's 
miscellany as an irregular ode. The. opening stanza affords a 
sufficient specimen : — 

Fancy, nymph that loves to lie 

On the lonely eminence ; 
Darting notice through the eye, 

Forming thought and feasting sense : 
Thou that must lend imagination wings, 
And stamp distinction on all worldly things ; 

Come, and with all thy various hues, 

Paint and adorn thy sister muse. 

Some passages from Gfilpin's works, which I have inserted as 
foot-notes, will be read with interest.] 

Silent Nymph, with, curious eye, 1 
Who the purple ev'ning lie 
On the mountain's lonely van, 
Beyond the noise of busy man, 
Painting fair the form of things, 
While the yellow linnet sings ; 
Or the tuneful nightingale 
Charms the forest with her tale ; 

1 " Mr. Dyer Longstaffe observes that the first two lines have been much 



GRONGAB HILL. 6 

Come, with all thy various hues, 
Come, and aid thy sister Muse ; 
JSTow, while Phoebus, riding high, 
Gives lustre to the land and sky, 
Grongar Hill invites my song, 
Draw the landskip bright and strong ; 
Grongar, in whose mossy cells, 
Sweetly musing, Quiet dwells ; 
, Grongar, in whose silent shade, 
For the modest Muses made, 
So oft I have, the ev'ning still, 
At the fountain of a rill 
Sate upon a flow'ry bed, 
With my hand beneath my head ; 
While stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood. 
Over mead, and over wood, 
From house to house, from hill to hill, 
'Till Contemplation had her fill. 

About his chequer'd sides I wind, 
And leave his brooks and meads behind, 
And groves, and grottos where I lay, 
And vistas shooting beams. of day : 
Wide and wider spreads the vale, 
As circles on a smooth canal : 
The mountains round, unhappy fate ! 
Sooner or later, of all height, 
Withdraw their summits from the skies, 
And lessen as the others rise : 
Still the prospect wider spreads, 
Adds a thousand woods and meads, 

condemned, and are yet perhaps more laboured than any others, as may be 
seen by the MSS., where they appear thus : — 

1 Silent goddess of the sight, 
Nymph of heavenly sight. 
Sage and silent nymph of sight, 
Nymph of the diviner sight. 
Fair contemplator of light, 
In various hues divinely bright/ 

And Seott, in his ingenious essay remarks : — c Dyer in general wrote with 
remarkable simplicity and clearness, but here is an instance in which his 
sense is almost inexplicable. What fictitious person is addressed by the 
appellation of Silent Nymph, it seems scarcely possible to discover. That 
Fancy was designed, is a fact that can be fully "ascertained ; and as the pas- 
sage stands at present, there must be either a designed violent ellipsis, or 
accidental omission of the particle at, in the second line. It might be read 
thus : — 

Silent nymph, with curious eye, 
Who at purple evening lie. 5 " — W. 



4 DTER. 

Still it widens, widens still, 
And sinks the newly -risen hill. 

Now, I gain the mountain's brow, 
What a landskip lies below ! 
'No clouds, no vapours intervene, 
But the gay, the open scene 
Does the face of nature show, 
In all the hues of heaven's bow ! 
And, swelling to embrace the light, 
Spreads around beneath the sight. ' 

Old castles on the cliffs arise, 2 
Proudly towering in the skies ! 
Bushing from the woods, the spires 
Seem from hence ascending fires ! 
Half his beams Apollo sheds 
On the yellow mountain-heads ! 
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks, 
And glitters on the broken rocks ! 

Below me trees unnumber'd rise, 3 
Beautiful in various dyes : 
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, 
The yellow beech, the sable yew, 
The slender fir, that taper grows, 
The sturdy oak, with broad-spread boughs ; 
And, beyond, the purple grove, 
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love ! 
G-audy as the op'ning dawn, 
Lies a long and level lawn, 
On which a dark hill, steep and high, 4 
Holds and charms the wandering eye ! 
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood, 
His sides are cloth'd with waving wood, 

1 " Spreads around the sight." — MS. 

2 " Castle Kilkenning, Castle Carreg, Dinevawr Castle, Drusloin Castle." 
—MS. 

3 " The first object that meets his eye is a wood; it is just beneath him, and 
he easily distinguishes the several trees of which it is composed : — 

c The gloomy pine/ &c. 

This is perfectly right ; objects so near the eye should be distinctly marked. 
What next strikes him is a purple grove ; that is, I presume, a grove which 
has gained its purple hue from distance. This is, no doubt, very just 
colouring ; though it is here, I think, introduced rather too early in the 
landscape." — Gilpin, Observations on the Wye, 105— W. 

4 The words 'on which' are corrected by the poet, in pencil, to 'where.' 
The dark hill is one of the cliffs already noticed— Dinevawr, or Newton 
Castle.— W. 



CKROXGAE, HILL. 5 

And ancient towers crown his brow, 
That east an awefdl look below : 
"Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps, 
And with her arms from falling keeps ; 
So both a safety from the wind 
In mntnal dependence find. 

'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ; 
'Tis now the apartment of the toad ; 
And there the fox securely feeds ; 
And there the pois'nons adder breeds, 
Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds ; 
"While, ever and anon, there falls 
Huge heap of hoary monlder'd walls. 1 
Yet time has seen, that lifts the low, 
And level lays the lofty brow, 
Has seen this broken pile complete, 
Big with the vanity of state ; 
But transient is the smile of Fate ! 
A little rule, a little sway, 
A sunbeam in a winter's day, 
Is all the proud and mighty have 
Between the cradle and the grave. 

And see the rivers how they run 
Thro' woods and meads, in shade and sun ! 
Sometimes swift, 2 sometimes slow, 
Wave succeeding wave, they go 
A various journey to the deep, 
Like human life to endless sleep ! 
Thus is nature's vesture wrought, 
To instruct our wand'ring thought ; 
Thus she dresses green and gay, 
To disperse our cares away. 

1 "The next object he surveys is a level lawn, from which a hill crowned 
with a castle arises : this is meant, I am informed, for Dinevawr. Here his 
great want of keeping appears. The castle, instead of being marked with 
fainter colours than the purple grove, is touched with all the strength of a 
fore-ground; you see the Tery ivy creeping upon its walls. Transgressions 
of this kind are common in descriptive poetry. But I mention only the in- 
accuracies of an author, who, as a painter, should at least have observed the 
most obvious principles of his art. With how much more picturesque truth 
does Milton introduce a distant castle: — 

' Towers and battlements it sees, 
Bosom'd high in tufted trees.' 

Here we have all the indistinct colouring which obscures a distant object. 
"We do not see the iron-grated window, the portcullis, the ditch, or the 
rampart. We can just distinguish a castle from a tree, and a tower from a 
battlement." — Gilpi>\ On the TTye, 106. — TV. 

2 " And" is inserted in the ilS. — TV. 



DTEE. 

Ever charming, ever new, 
"Wlien will the landskip tire the view ! 
The fountain's fall, the river's flow, 
The woody valleys, warm and low : 
The windy summit, wild and high, 
Roughly rushing on the sky ! 
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r, 
The naked rock, the shady bow'r ; 
The town and village, dome and farm, 
Each give each a double charm, 
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. 

See on the mountain's southern side, 1 . 
Where the prospect opens wide, 
Where the evening gilds the tide ; 
How close and small the hedges lie ! 
What streaks of meadows cross the eye ! 
A step, methinks, may pass the stream, 
So little distant dangers seem : 
So we mistake the Future's face, 
Ey'd thro' Hope's deluding glass : 
As yon summits soft and fair, 
Clad in colours of the air, 
Which to those who journey near, 
Barren, brown, and rough appear ; 
Still we tread 2 the same coarse way ; 
The present's still a cloudy day. 

O may I with myself agree, 
And never covet what I see : 
Content me with an humble shade, 
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid ; 
For while our wishes wildly roll, 
We banish quiet from the sonl : 
'Tis thus the busy beat the air ; 
And misers gather wealth and care. 

Now, ev'n now, my joys run high, 
As on the mountain-turf I lie : 



1 "A view of this kind does not assume its beauty, till, on descending a little- 
lower, the hedge-rows begin to lengthen, and form those agreeable discrimi 
nations of which Virgil takes notice : — 

' et late discriminat agros ' — Mn. ii., 144. 

Where fields or meadows become extended streaks, and yet are broken in 
various parts by rising grounds, castles, and other objects, with which dis- 
tances abound; melting away from the eye in one general azure tint, just 
here and there diversified with a few lines of light and shade." — Gilpik, 
Observations on the River Wye, p. 129. — W. 

2 "The MS. adds 'tired/ after 'tread.' "-W. 



THE COUNTBT WALK. 

While the wanton Zephyr sings, 
And in the vale perfumes his wings ; 
While the waters murmur deep ; 
While the shepherd charms his sheep ; 
While the birds unbounded fly, 
And with music fill the sky, 
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high. 

Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ; 
Search for Peace with all your skill : 
Open wide the lofty door, . 
Seek her on the marble floor : 
In vain ye 1 search, she is not there : 
In vain ye search the domes of Care ! 
Grass and flowers Quiet treads, 
On the meads, and mountain-heads, 
Along with Pleasure, close ally'd, 
Ever by each other's side : 
And often, by the murm'ring rill, 
Hears the thrush, while all is still, 
Within the groves of Grongar Hill. 



THE COUNTEY WALK. 

[This is another, and a less pleasing view of Grongar Hill ; the 
allusion to Clio fixes the date of the poem before the close of 1727, 
when Dyer was residing at the family seat of Aberglasney. The 
verses have a rough, unfinished look, as of a sketch which was to 
be worked up into a picture. The same expressions and epithets 
recur ; and the versification is harsh and languid. The true eye 
and hand of the painter are, nevertheless, perceived; as in the 
description of the cocks at the barn-door, — 

" Flirting empty chaff about." 
Of the little stream in the grass, — 

" A vein of water limps along." 
And of the angler, who, beneath the tree, — 

" Swings the nibbling fry to land." 
The figures are also happily introduced ; especially the poet resting 

1 The printed copies have 'you; 5 l ye' is now inserted from the MS. — "W. 



8 DTEE. 

himself at the root of the oak, the old man leaning on his spade, 
and the shepherd stretched along the bank of moss. ] 

The morning's fair ; the lusty Sun 

"With ruddy cheek begins to run ; 

And early birds, that wing the skies, 

Sweetly sing to see him rise. 

I am resolved, this charming day, 

In the open field to stray, 

And have no roof above my head, 

But that whereon the gods do tread. 

Eefore the yellow barn I see 

A beautiful variety 

Of strutting cocks, advancing stout, 

And flirting empty chaff about : 

Hens, ducks, and geese, and all their brood, 

And turkeys gobbling for their food, 

While rustics thrash the wealthy floor, 

And tempt them all to crowd the door. 

What a fair face does Nature show ! 
Augusta ! wipe thy dusty brow ; 
A landscape wide salutes my sight 
Of shady vales and mountains bright ; 
And azure heavens I behold, 
And clouds of silver and of gold. 
And now into the fields I go, 
Where thousand flaming flowers glow, 
And every neighb'ring hedge I greet, 
With honeysuckle smelling sweet. 
Now o'er the daisy-meads I stray, 
And meet with, as I pace my way, 
Sweetly shining on the eye, 
A riv'let gliding smoothly by, 
Which shows with what an easy tide 
The moments of the happy glide : 
Here, finding pleasure after pain, 
Sleeping, I see a weary'd swain, 
While his full scrip lies open by, 
That does his healthy food supply. 
Happy swain ! sure happier far 
Than lofty kings and princes are ! 
Enjoy sweet sleep, which shuns the crown, 
With all its easy beds of down. 

The Sun now shows his noontide blaze, 
And sheds around me burning rays. 




" And on green moss I lay me down, 
That o'er the root of oak has grown ; 
Where all is silent."— P. 9. 



THE COUNTRY "WALK. 

A little onward, and I go 
Into the shade that groves bestow, 
And on green moss I lay me down, 
That o'er the root of oak has grown ; 
Where all is silent, bnt some flood 
That sweetly murmurs in the wood ; 
But birds that warble in the sprays, 
And charm ev'n Silence with their lays. 

Oh ! pow'rful Silence ! How you reign 
In the poet's busy brain ! 
His num'rous thoughts obey the calls 
Of the tuneful waterfalls ; 
Like moles, whene'er the coast is clear, 
They rise before thee without fear, 
And range in parties here and there. 
Some wildly to Parnassus wing, 
And view the fair Castalian spring, 
Where they behold a lonely well 
Where now no tuneful Muses dwell, 
But now and then a slavish hind 
Paddling the troubled pool they find. 
Some trace the pleasing paths of joy, 
Others the blissful scene destroy, 
In thorny tracks of sorrow stray, 
And pine for Clio far away. 
But stay — Methinks her lays I hear, 
So smooth ! so sweet ! so deep ! so clear ! 
"No, it is not her voice I find ; 
'Tis but the echo stays behind. 

Some meditate Ambition's brow, 
And the black gulph that gapes below ; 
Some peep in courts, and there they see 
The sneaking tribe of Flattery : — 
But, striking to the ear and eye, 
A nimble deer comes bounding by ! 
When rushing from yon rustling spray, 
It made them vanish all away. 
I rouse me up, and on I rove ; 
'Tis more than time to leave the grove ; 
The Sun declines, the evening breeze 
Begins to whisper through the trees ; 
And as I leave the sylvan gloom, 
As to the glare of day I come, 
An old man's smoky nest I see 
Leaning on an aged tree, 



10 DTEE. 

Whose willow walls, and furzy brow, 

A little garden sway below. 

Through spreading beds of blooming green, 

Matted with herbage sweet and clean, 

A vein of water limps along, 

And makes them ever green and young. 

Here he puffs upon his spade, 

And digs up cabbage in the shade ; 

His tatter'd rags are sable brown, 

His beard and hair are hoary grown : 

The dying sap descends apace, 

And leaves a withered hand and face. 

Up G-rongar Hill I labour now, 

And catch at last his bushy brow. 

Oh ! how fresh, how pure the air ! 

Let me breathe a little here. 

Where am I, Nature ? I descry 

Thy magazine before me lie. 

Temples ! and towns ! and towers ! and woods ! 

And hills ! and rills ! and fields ! and floods ! 

Crowding before me, edg'd around 

With naked wilds, and barren ground. 

See, below, the pleasant dome, 
The poet's pride, the poet's home, 
Which the sunbeams shine upon, 
To the even from the dawn. 
See her woods, where Echo talks, 
Her gardens trim, her terrace walks, 
Her wildernesses, fragrant brakes, 
Her gloomy bowers, and shining lakes. 
Keep, ye gods ! this humble seat 
For ever pleasant, private, neat. 

See yonder hilL uprising steep, 
Above the river slow and deep ; 
It looks from hence a pyramid, 
Beneath a verdant forest hid ; 
On whose high top there rises great, 
The mighty remnant of a seat, 
An old green tow'r, whose batter' d brow 
Frowns upon the vale below. 

Look upon that flowery plain, 
How the sheep surround their swain, 
How they crowd to hear his strain ! 
All careless with his legs across, 
Leaning on a bank of moss, 



TO ATJEELIA. 11 

He spends his empty hours at play, 
Which fly as light as down away. 

And there behold a bloomy mead, 
A silver stream, a willow shade, 
Beneath the shade a fisher stand, 
Who, with the angle in his hand, 
Swings the nibbling fry to land. 

In blushes the descending sun 
Kisses the streams, while slow they run ; 
And yonder hill remoter grows, 
Or dusky clouds do interpose. 
The fields are left, the lab 'ring hind 
His weary oxen does unbind ; 
And vocal mountains, as they low, 
He-echo to the vales below. 
The jocund shepherds piping come, 
And drive the herd before them home ; 
And now begin to light their fires, 
Which send up smote in curling spires ; 
"While with light hearts all homeward tend, 
To Aberglasney I descend. 

But oh ! how bless'd would be the day, 
Did I with Clio pace my way, 
And not alone and solitary stray ! 



TO ATJEELIA. 1 

See, the flowery Spring is blown, 
Let us leave the smoky Town : 
From the Mall, and from the Bing, 
Every one has taken wing ; 
Cloe, Strephon, Corydon, 
To the meadows all are gone 
What is left you worth your stay ? 
Come, Aurelia, come away. 

Come, Aurelia, come and see 
What a lodge I've dress'd for thee ; 

1 These yerses are written on the same sheet as Grongar Hill, and by 
the same hand; they are corrected by the Poet. — W. 



12 DTEE. 

But the seat you cannot see, 
'Tis so hid with jessamy, 
With the vine that o'er the walls, 
And in every window, crawls ; 
Let us there be blithe and gay ! 
Come, Aurelia, come away. 

Come with all thy sweetest wiles, 
With thy graces and thy smiles ; 
Come, and we will merry be, 
Who shall be so blest as we ? 
We will frolic all the day, 
Haste, Aurelia, while we may : 
Ay ! and should not life be gay ? 
Yes, Aurelia — Come away. 1 



AN EPISTLE TO A FAMOUS PALNTEK, 

[The " Painter" was probably the elder Richardson, from whom 
Dyer took lessons. The following lines, written in the margin of 
the MS., were intended for insertion : — 



Uncontrolled and unconflned, 
Suit all changes of yonr mind, 
Paint affected wisdom's face, 
Or Silenus and his ass; 



Or, deep within a wilderness, 
Some lovely woman in distress ; 
Or a choir of woodnymphs gay, 
Dancinghand in hand away] . 



Delightful partner of my heart, 
Master of the loveliest art ! 
How sweet our senses you deceive, 
When we, a gazing throng, believe ! 
Here flows the Po, the Minis there, 
Winding about with sedgy hair ; 
And there the Tiber's yellow flood, 
Beneath a thick and gloomy wood ; 
And there Darius' broken ranks 
Upon the Granic's bloody banks, 
Who bravely die, or basely run 
From Philip's all-subduing son ; 
And there the wounded Porus, brought 
(The bravest man that ever fought !) 

1 The Poet repeatedly altered the last stanza, but without improving 



it.— w. 



AK EPISTLE TO A FAMOUS PAIKTEB. \% 

To Alexander's tent, -who eyes 
His dauntless visage, as he lies 
In death's most painful agonies. 

To me reveal thy heav'nly art, 
To me thy mysteries impart. 
As yet I but in verse can paint, 
And to th' idea colonr faint, 
What to th' open eye yon show, 
Seeming Nature's living glow ; 
The beauteous shapes of objects near, 
Or distant ones confus'd in air ; 
The golden eve, the blinking dawn, 
Smiling on the lovely lawn ! 
And pleasing views of checker'd glades ! 
And rivers winding thro' the shades ! 
And sunny hills, and pleasant plains ! 
And groups of merry nymphs and swains ! 

Or some old building, hid with grass, 
Hearing sad its ruin'd face, 
Whose columns, friezes, statues lie, 
The grief and wonder of the eye ! 
Or swift adown a mountain tall 
A foaming cat'ract's sounding fall, 
Whose loud roaring stuns the ear 
Of the wondering traveller ; 
Or a calm and quiet bay, 
And a level, shining sea ; 
Or surges rough, that froth and roar, 
And, angry, dash the sounding shore ; 
And vessels toss'd, and billows high, 
And lightening flashing from the sky ; 
Or that which gives the most delight, 
The fair idea (seeming sight !) 1 
Of warrior fierce, with shining blade, 
Or orator, with arms display'd : 
Tully's engaging air and mien, 
Declaiming against Catiline ; 
Or fierce Achilles towering high 
Above bis foes, who round him die. 

Or Hercules, with lion's hide, 
And knotty cudgel thrown aside, 

The MS. reads - 

( The full incorporated sight.' — W. 



14 DTER. 

Lifting Antaeus high in air, 

Who in his gripe expires there. 1 

Or Sisyphus, with toil and sweat, 

And muscles strain'd, striving to get 

Up a steep hill a ponderous stone, 

Which near the top recoils, and rolls impetuous 

down; 
Or beauteous Helen's easy air, 
With head reclin'd, and flowing hair ; 
Or comely Paris, gay and young. 
Moving with gallant grace along ! — 
These you can do — I but advance 
In a florid ignorance, 
And say to you, who better know, 
You should design them so and so. 



THE INQUIBY. 

[Mk. W. Dyer Longstaffe thinks that the poet's "wish to lock 
down, like an eagle, with wings wide-displayed," was suggested by 
the "eagle displayed, Argent," the beautiful bearing which formed 
the arms of Cognizance of the Welsh families of Dyer.] 

Ye poor little sheep ! Ah ! well may ye stray, 

While sad is your shepherd, and Clio away ! 

Tell where have you been ; have you met with my 

love, 
On the mountain, or valley, or meadow, or grove ? 
Alas-a-day ! JN"o — ye are starv'd and half dead ; 
Ye saw not my love, or ye all had been fed. 
Oh, Sun ! did you see her ? Ah, surely you did : 
'Mong what — willows, or woodbines, or reeds, is she 

hid? 
Ye tall whistling pines ! that on yonder hill grow, 
And o'erlook the beautiful valley below, 
Did you see her a-roving in wood, or in brake, 
Or bathing her fair limbs in some silent lake ? 
Ye mountains ! that look on the vigorous east, 
And the north, and the south, and the wearisome 
west, 

1 The MS. reading is far more spirited, — 

'Who curls, and writhes, and struggles there.' — W. 



TO CLIO. 15 

Pray tell where she hides her; you surely do know; 

And let not her lover pine after her so. 

Oh ! had I the wings of an eagle, I'd fly 

Along with bright Phoebus all over the sky ; 

Like an eagle look down, with my wings wide 

display'd, 
And dart in my eye at each whispering shade : 
I'd search ev'ry tuft in my diligent tour, 
I'd unravel the woodbine, and look in each bow'r, 
Till I found out my Clio, and ended my pain, 
And made myself quiet and happy again. 



TO CLIO. PEO^l POME. 

Alas, dear Clio, every day, 
Some sweet idea dies away : 
Echoes of songs, and dreams of joys, 
Inhuman absence all destroys. 

Inhuman absence — and his train, 
Avarice, and toil, and care, and pain, 
And strife and trouble. — Oh ! for love, 
Angelic Clio, these remove! 

Nothing, alas, where'er I walk, 
JSTothing but fear and sorrow talk ; 
Where'er I walk, from bound to bound, 
JSTothing but ruin spreads around, 

Or busts that seem from graves to rise, 
Or statues stern, with sightless eyes, 
Cold Death's pale people : — Oh ! for love, 
Angelic Clio, these remove ! 

The tuneful song, O speed away, 
Say every sweet thing love can say, 
Speed the bright beams of wit and sense, 
Speed thy white doves, and draw me hence. 

So may the carved, fair, speaking stone, 
Persuasive half, and half moss-grown, 
So may the column's graceful height, 
O'er woods and temples gleaming bright, 
u 



16 DYEK. 

And the wreathed urn, among the vines, 
Whose form my pencil now designs, 
Be, with their ashes, lost in air, 
No more the trifles of my care. 1 



WEITTEN AT ST. PETER'S. 

[From the MSS. The following is an extract from the poet's cor- 
respondence to his English friends at the time. — " I am now in the 
hurry of a jubilee — in the midst of a most unnatural uproar, with 
the cries of many strange penances around me. And, I will assure 
you, a Lord Mayor's show is infinitely preferable to that of opening 
the holy door. It was very silly ; for, after a great length of most 
wretched pageantry, the Pope reached the door, and beat it down 
with three strokes of a hammer, three good prayers, and the most 
successful force of three or four lusty fellows, who pulled and hauled 
within with ropes and crows of iron. So fell down the little wall 
on a carriage of low wheels, and they wheeled it away to be broken 
into 10,000 pieces, to be dispersed for pence and halfpence to all 
the corners of Europe. It is strange what a havoc the religion of 
the inhabitants makes on their minds. Everything they do is 
capricious and absurd ; all things take a tincture of their religion. 
So reason and the plain principles of nature are neglected among 
them. Their chief employment is visiting churches, and doing 
strange penances. They are now busy in visiting the four churches, 
which they are ordered to do thirty times, and every round is near 
twenty miles ; and many of the poor wretches are even starved in 



l The poem is also found in the MSS. in the following shape : 

Ah, my Clio, every day 
Some sweet image dies away : 
All my songs, and all my joys, 
Cruel absence alL destroys. 

Cruel absence and his train, 
Strife, and envy, care, and pain, 
Toil, and trouble, — Oh ! for love, 
Gentle Clio, these remove ! 

Speed, O speed the song away, 
Say the sweet things love can say, 
Speed the beams of wit and sense, 
Speed thy doves, and draw me hence. 

So be the urn, among the vines, 
Which my pencil now designs, 
With its ashes, lost in air, 
Lost, with every idle care. 



TllAGMEyT. 1/ 

the unprofitable labour. It is really a dismal sight to see the 
streets so crowded with troops of families, like so many gipsies, 
some on foot and some on asses, covered with dust and sweat, all 
faint and ghastly."] 

O geacious Lord, forgive us ;. we are all, 
All of us, sinners vile ; But these, who build 
Greatness upon their brethren's miseries ; 
Who scorn to make Thy meek and patient life 
The pattern of their doings ; yet put on 
A day- dress of religion; hypocrites ! 
Who faiths absurd exact with fiery zeal ; 
And strive to thrall the tongue to their decrees, 
iSot win the spirit to the bond of love : — 
God of our fathers, keep us from the ways 
Of these foul hirelings. Less Thy glory pure 
Seek they to magnify, than that of men : 
For basest ends the simple they perplex, 
And with the guise of learning, check the hope 
That rises in their hearts from virtuous deeds. 



FRAGMENT. 



While to the unstudied lay I leaned my ear 
Fearful of noise, and covetous to hear, 
A white-robed friar rolled majestic in, 
Behind his belly, and his treble chin. 
He trod a noisy step, ungain, uneven, 
And showed a visage very fleshly given. 
Alas ! who can the ills of life foresee ? 
This holy limber lodged and stuck by me. 
Next a gray friar came with studied grace, 
A formal sadness hung upon his face, 
Poor man, mistaken zeal enticed him on, 
And shrunk my creature to a skeleton : 
Oft on his eyeballs, as his fancy strayed, 
The wild delirium of devotion played. 
While Dominic on one side pressed with pride, 
This pierced with carcass sharp my other side. 



u 2 



18 DTER. 



FRAGMENT. 

IN HIS ITALIAN SKETCH BOOK. 

God of my favoured being ! Thou hast made 
All things in wisdom. All things sing thy praise, 
God of the great Creation ! when I raise, 
Before the sun and moon, my upturned eyes, 
Thee I confess : and, when I drop my sight 
Upon the holly's leaf, or bladed grass, 
And know that myriads feed along their folds, 
In perfect laws according to their kinds, 
Their wants, their wishes suited to the scene, 
Thee I acknowledge. 



WEITTEN AT OCEICULUM, IN ITALY, 1725. 

ALTERED 1730. 

[This poem foreshadows the " Ruins of Rome," and occurs in two 
or three shapes. The first idea is in the easy octosyllabic measure. 
The copy of 1730 is in the poet's hand. The conclusion is torn 
away, and is supplied by a copy by Elizabeth Dyer.] 

Deep in a lonely wild, with brakes perplexed, 
And trunks of aged pines, and caves, and brooks ; 
Among recumbent, ivy-grown remains 
Of once a city populous and proud, 
Long I reclined ; and, with laborious hand, 
Figured, in picture, of the solemn scene 
The gloomy image : studious to excel, 
Of praise and fame ambitious : till her shade, 1 
"Wide o'er the nodding towers, and Tiber's stream 
(Rolling beneath his willows, deep and dark) 2 
Evening extended ; and, at length, fatigue 
"Weighed down the droused sense, when, lo ! appeared 
(Or awful rose before the mental eye, 
In vision promptive oft of sacred truths) 

i "The preceding four lines are marked for alteration; and this memo- 
randumis added:—' Here a new turn should be given the poem, and a nobler 
cause for the following reflections/"— D. L. _ 

2 " This line was erased for a variation, which in its turn was rejected, and 
on which a cross was placed against the earlier reading, meaningStet ?" — D. L. 



WKITTE^ AT OCRICULTTM IN ITALY. 19 

The semblance of a seer. 1 His open brow 

Calm wisdom smoothed. A veil of candid liue 

Hung on bis silver hairs ; his form erect 

A Tyrian robe o'erflowed, in comely folds 

Amply declining. To me full he turned, 

"With outraised arm, his aspect — Eloquence 

Spoke in the graceful act, and uttered these 

In numbers solemn : — "Late thy toils, obscure, 

Painful and perilous : thy date on earth 

How frail ! how fleeting ! has thy reason weighed ? 

Shall the next rising sun mature the work 

"Which now afflicts thee patient P Shalt thou raise 

(Fond hope !) in this fugacious scene, renown 

Sacred, immortal, as the poets feign, 

Erring ? Alas, the various breath shall cease, 

That, yet a little while, perchance, may float, 

With idle sounds, about the listless grave. 

Poor retribution ! Vain, mistaken man, 

Ev'n now the step of Time is at thy heels, 

And thee, and these thy paintings, and thy lyre, 

Briefly will sweep away. Around, behold, 

To age corrosive, all submit their forms : 

The Parian statue, and the brazen bust, 

The dome superb, the column of huge size, 

Prone on the ground, beneath the wandering weed ; 

And shall the tender light and shade survive 

Of the soft flowing pencil ? Lo, that heap ! 

Can its dust tell thee once it rose a bath ? 

Where are her silver urns ? Where murmur now 

Her cool refreshing waters ? Of yon tomb, 

Deep sunk in earth, with mouldering sculpture graced, 

Observe the proud inscription, how it bears 

But half a tale : — or turn thy curious eye 

To yonder obelisk, in ancient days 

By earthquake fall'n, a cedar's stately length, 

Thebaic stone, from waste ev'n yet secure, 

With hieroglyphic deep inwrought — but ail 

With vain intent, where nations pass away, 

W r here language dies. And now the veil of night 

Sables the vault of Heaven ; the busy now 

Retire to rest, with these the bitter fruits 

Of their mistaken labours, care, and pain, 

And weariness, and sickness, and decay ; 

1 " The MS. shows an unfulfilled intention of changing the character of 
the visitant, of giving him a celestial brightness. In the first ideas of the 
poem the satyrs were the monitors." — D. L. 



20 DYER. 

Such as to-morrow shall their portion be, 

To-morrow and to-morrow ; wretched man ! 

Were it not better in the arms of ease 

To lie snpine ? or give the son! a loose, 

And frolic join, in song and riant dance, 

The sons of luxury ? Pernicious voice ! 

Which soon with soothing sound may sweetly lure 

Thy weary nature, yielding. O beware ! 

Fly the false note, as did, in fable old, 

Laertes' son, on Scylla's baleful coast, 

The Syren's incantations : there remains 

Another path : not all to folly tend : 

Hear, and be wise ; another path obscure, 

Narrow, despised, frequented by the few, 

Where sober Truth conducts the peaceful step, 

And, ever tuneful in the brightening scene, — 

Hear, and be wise, — the silent audience charms. 

There shall the song reveal what e'er is meet 

Of thine own essence, of that conscious part 

(Diffused within thy frame), by which thou dost 

Or good, or evil ; great, immortal gift ! 

All marvellous ! where matter has no share ! 

Unutterable essence. There the song 

Shall tell thee, wrapt in pleasing fearful thought, 

In humble wonder, how thy form arose 

Without thy wisdom from the secret womb ; 

How it acquires increase, suffers waste ; 

By will not thine : by laws, to thee unknown, 

Incessant — till the hour of fate performs 

Its dissolution, and, to life divine, 

Opens the speedy passage, soon revealed, 

Awful existence ! Then declare, then say, 

What thought, what solemn business of the soul 

Shall entertain the pure eternal state ! 

Hence, weigh thy own esteem — and yet beyond — 

Marvel, within thyself to meditate 

That Being, whence the issues of thy life 

Perpetual flow ; in thee He dwells, nor aught 

So small exists which He doth not pervade ; 

Nor swells immensity of space beyond 

His boundless presence ; nor to Him obscure 

Broods in the silent breast profoundest thought ; 

His own works knows He not ? Him who can tell ! 

What eye discern ! what earthly-musing thought 

The pure immediate essence may conceive ! 

Language inadequate ! Howe'er, as men, 



as to clio's picture. 21 

By reflex mild, behold the lamp of day 

Shorn of his radiance in the level flood ; 

So, in the veil of His creation wide, 

So, shrouded in His boundless tabernacle, 

With lowliest reverence view the Infinite 

Majesty — o'er the blue vast above, 

In those bright orbs, innumerable worlds ! 

And o'er this various globe, earth, ocean, air, 

Him, in his works, behold ! How beauteous, all ! 

How perfect each in its peculiar state ! 

How therefore wise, how just, how gracious, He ! 

As far as nature weak may imitate, 

So be thou just, and wise, and fill thy life 

With deeds of good ; not with vain-glorious arts 

Attempered to short pomp, th' erroneous praise 

Of men vain-seeking, but humane and meek, 

Content and cheerful, with religious care, 

(In due regard to thy contingent state) 

Weighing what best may be performed, and what 

forbore. 
Thus shalt thou taste the bliss they seek on earth, 
Vainly they seek on earth, unspotted fame, 
Untroubled joy, and frequent ecstasy, 
Through blessed eternity, in visions, fair, 
Brighter than human fancy may behold. 
— Wait thy destined task : — 
The day shall tell the lesson of thy life." 



AS TO CLIO'S PICTUEE. 

A FEAGMEXT. 

[Hill has some verses "To Mr. Dyer, on his attempting Clio's 
Picture;" and in Savage's works is a poem "To Mr. John 
Dyer, a painter, advising him to draw a certain noble and illus- 
trious person ; occasioned by seeing his picture of the celebrated 
Clio." The following poem was perhaps written about the same 
time. It occurs in the same book as the preceding epistle to 
a famous painter, and it may be difficult to say whether its allu- 
sions express a wish to visit Rome, or a regret at departing from it. 
The first and second lines are copied, with slight variations, from 
Pope's verses upon an Unfortunate Lady.] 



22 DYEE. 

deeply learned, wisely modest, tell — 
Is it a fault to like thy praise so well ? 
Pleased to be praised by thee, my spirits glow, 
And could I ever, I could paint her now. 

1 meet her beauties in a brighter ray, 
And in my eyebeams all her graces play. 

Painting, great goddess, mocks my vain desires, 

Her lofty art a lofty soul requires ; 

Long studies too, and fortune at command, 

An eye unwearied, and a patient hand ; 

And, if I cannot brook to be confined, 

What scenes of nature should instruct my mind ; 

At home, abroad, in sunshine, and in storms, 

I should observe her in a thousand forms ; 

Beneath the morning and the evening sky, 

Beneath the nightly lamp with patient eye ; 1 

Where princes oft, and oft where slaves resort, 

In fleets and camps, at cities and at court ; 

Low at the base of every pillared dome, 

And in the awful fields of ruined Eome. 

But what receives the man, but what return 

Before his ashes fill the silent urn ? 

A very little of his life remains, 

And has he no reward for all his pains ? 

None by the thoughtless and the gay arise, 

None shine with merit in the miser's eyes, 

A veil the envious over beauties throw, 

And proud ambition never looks below. 

Were it not better seek the arms of ease, 

And sullen time with mirth and music please, 

Hold pleasant paiie with Bacchus over wine ? 
jt jb jb jj. j& 

3? "?? TT * W 



THE CAMBBO-BKITOK 

A FEAGMENT. 
[From the MSS. of about 1735.] 

Theee's yet the thing on earth we virtue call, 
Of old so much admired. Who seeks recess, 

1 These two lines at first stood : — 

"By silvery daylight, by the ruddy lamp, 
In the dry chamber, in the meadow damp." 



THE EUIKS OF HOME. 23 

Among the fields afar, at close of eve, 
The creature may discern. I knew a man, 
Within the vales of Cambria, far withdrawn 
From life's flagitious stage, at humble ease : 
Through the green reed he sends the voice of love 
After his warfare. Pure and meek his life, 
And primitive of taste, as men were wont 
In ancient days to live. So little pleased 
His uncorrupted mind : so few his wants : 
Yet where he could abound I could not learn, 
Unless Content has some mysterious wealth, 
And that were his. I wished to be his friend : 
I wished I was : and much he taught my mind. 
Howe'er good will survives ; he took the pipe, 
And all the voice of love melodious flowed 
Through the green reed. Alas ! my countryman ! 
Can a mean swain augment the public good ? 
Behold the Iberian ; To, the Gaul exult 
Thunders 



THE EUI]N X S OF EO^EE. 

[There is a curious exclamation in the "Italian Sketch Book," 
which contains some of Dyer's early poems : — " Bear up my Muse, 
and improve the spark that Novelty has given thee." The Muse 
was not deaf to the appeal. So early as 1729, scattered passages 
of the Poem are found in the MSS. The Ruins of Rome appeared 
without the name of the author ; and the book was immediately 
noticed and warmly praised in the ' ' Champion," one of the cleverest 
successors of the "Spectator," which came out three times in a 
week, and numbered Fielding among its contributors. After 
shewing the merits of the composition, the critic pronounces this 
glowing panegyric : — "If such superior, such commanding beauties 
cannot awake the curiosity, or excite the gratitude of the age, let 
no man for the future put his trust in the Muses, or natter himself 
that merit is the road to reputation. The hints of acknowledg- 
ment, scattered up and down this paper, are a free-will offering, and 
owe their rise neither to friendship, flattery, nor interest. The 
" Champion" is an utter stranger even to the name of the author 
of the "Ruins of Rome," and praises him merely because he 
deserves it ; he is both the admirer and the friend of genius, however 
discountenanced, or obscure ; nor waits for the fashion to prompt his 



24 DYEK. 

panegyric ; and, though not of the illustrious society for the en- 
couragement of learning, would make it his highest glory to assist 
the endeavours of all who labour as well as he, either to instruct, 
delight, or polish mankind." (March 8, 1739.) Such criticism 
honours alike the writer and the subject ; but it found no echo in 
the popular voice. In later days, the fine taste and classical style 
of Dyer began to win admirers whose praise is fame. The view of 
the Ruins is supposed to occupy a day. Mr. Wordsworth, in a 
note to his Sonnets on the River Duddon, remarks: — "A poet, 
whose works are not yet known as they deserve to be, thus enters 
upon the description of the Ruins of Rome : — 

" The rising sun 
Flames on the ruins, in the purer air 
Towering aloft." 

And ends thus : — 

" The setting sun displays 
His visible great round between yon towers, 
As through two shady cliffs." 

But Mr. Crowe, in his excellent loco-descriptive poem, Lewesdon 
Hill, is still more expeditious, finishing the whole on a May morn- 
ing before breakfast. No one believes, or is desired to believe, that 
these poems were actually composed within such limits of time ; 
nor was there any reason why a prose statement should acquaint 
the reader with the plain fact, to the disturbance of poetic credi- 
bility." The arrangement of the poem gives to it great breadth and 
harmony ; though the contemplative action, so to speak, might 
have been prolonged to the hours of darkness. A more illustrious 
pilgrim to Rome was thus enabled to add one very picturesque cir- 
cumstance : — 

" And the night 

The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry, 

As I now hear them in the fading light. 

Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, 

Answering each other on the Palatine, 

With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright, 

And sailing pinions." 1 



Aspice murorum moles, prseruptaque saxa, 
Obrutaque horrenti vasta theatra situ : 

Heec sunt Eoma. Viden' velut ipsa cadavera tantae 
Urbis adhuc spirent imperiosa minas ? 

Janus Yitalis. 

Enough of Grongar, and the shady dales 
Of winding Towy, Merlin's fabled haunt, 
I sung inglorious. Now the love of arts, 

l CJiilde Harold, c. iv. st. 106, 




Rent palaces, erush'd columns, rilled moles, 

Fanes roll'd on fanes, and tombs on buried tombs."— P. 



THE RUINS OF ROME, 10 

And what in metal or in stone remains 
Of prond antiquity, through, various realms l 
And various languages and ages fam'd, 
Bears me remote, o'er Gallia's woody bounds, 
O'er the cloud-piercing Alps remote, beyond 
The vale of Arno, purpled with the vine, 
Beyond the Umbrian and Etruscan hills, 2 
To Latium's wide champain, forlorn and waste, 
Where yellow Tiber his neglected wave 
Mournfully rolls. Yet once again, my Muse, 
Yet once again, and soar a loftier flight ; 
Lo ! the resistless theme, imperial Koine. 
F all 'n, fall'n, a silent heap ; her heroes all 
Sunk in their urns ; behold the pride of pomp, 
The throne of nations fall'n ; obscur'd in dust ; 
Ev'n yet majestical : the solemn scene 
Elates 3 the soul, while now the rising sun 
Flames on the ruins, in the purer air 
Tow'ring aloft, upon the glitt'ring plain, 
Like broken rocks, a vast circumference ; 
Rent palaces, crushed columns, rifled moles, 
Fanes roll'd on fanes, and tombs on buried tombs. 
Deep lies in dust the Theban obelisk 
Immense along the waste ; minuter art, 
G-liconian forms, or Phidian, subtly fair, 
O'erwhelming ; as th' immense Leviathan 
The finny brood, when near Ierne's shore 
Out-stretch'd, unwieldy, his island length appears 4 
Above the foamy flood. Globose 5 and huge, 

1 The original passage was free from the ambiguity of the present : — 

" Now the love of Arts 
Me o'er the hoary Alps conveys beyond," &c. — W. 

2 The same feeling is expressed in the poet's letters : — 

" The remains of the temples, the aqueducts, the amphitheatres, the 
arches, the statues, &c, of Old Rome have more than answered my expec- 
tations ; but I am disappointed in what looked so charming in the songs of 
the poets, the face of the country, the mountains and rivers. The moun- 
tains are naked, the rivers small and muddy." — W. 

3 Swells the charm'd soul, while now the rising Sun. — MS. 

i "The ' Champion' observes, (March 8, 1739) : — ' This line errs in quan- 
tity by being a syllable too long; and another line, — 

' Tumbling all precipitate down-dashed !' 
is equally defective by being a syllable too short. Puny critics may, if they 
please, cavil with such liberties, but they are such as only a master's hand is 
capable of, and demand not excuse but applause." — W. 

5 ' ' Regions to which 
All thy dominion, Adam, is no more 
Than what this garden is to all the earth, 
And all the sea, from one entire globose 
Stretch' d into longitude." — Paradise Lost, v. 750. — W. 



26 DTEE. 

Grey mould'ring temples swell, and wide o'ercast 

The solitary landscape, hills and woods, 

And boundless wilds ; while the vine-mantled brows 

The pendent goats unveil, regardless they 

Of hourly peril, though the clefted domes 

Tremble to every wind. The pi] grim oft 

At dead of night, 'mid his oraison hears 

Aghast ! the voice of Time, disparting tow'rs, 

Tumbling all precipitate down-dash'd, 1 

Hattling around, loud thundering to the moon ; 

While murmurs soothe each awful interval 

Of ever-falling waters ; 2 shrouded Nile, 

Eridanus, and Tiber 3 with his twins, 

And palmy Euphrates : 4 they with dropping locks 

Hang o'er their urns, and mournfully among 

The plaintive-echoing ruins pour their streams. 

Yet here, advent'rous in the sacred search 
Of ancient arts, the delicate of mind, 
Curious and modest, from all climes resort, 
Grateful society ! with these I raise 
The toilsome step up the proud Palatine, 
Through spiry cypress groves, and tow'ring pine, 
Waving aloft o'er the big ruin's brows, 
On num'rous arches rear'd : and frequent stopp'd, 
The sunk ground startles me with dreadful chasm, 
Breathing forth darkness from the vast profound 
Of aisles and halls, within the mountain's womb. 
Nor these the nether works : all these beneath, 
And all beneath the vales and hills around, 
Extend the cavern'd sewers, massy, firm, 
As the Sibylline grot 5 beside the dead 
Lake of Avernus ; such the sewers huge, 
Whither the great Tarquinian genius dooms 
Each wave impure ; and, proud with added rains, 
Hark how the mighty billows lash their vaults, 
And thunder ; how they heave their rocks in vain ! 

i " Adown-dash'd."— MS. 

2 " The word ' ever' is the key to the passage. The original reading was — 

' While silence soothes each awful interval, 
Save what deep murmurs fill the sadden' d ear, 
Of ever-falling waters.' " — W. 

3 Fountains at Eome, adorned with statues of those rivers. 

4 "The Terse ' And palmy Euphrates,' &c, may by some persons be 
thought harsh, but if it be read properly, it is not ; the accent must be sunk 
in the second syllable of palwy, and thrown strong on the second of Euph- 
rates. Milton has many verses of this sort where one vowel ends a word, 
and another begins the next, and both are connected in pronunciation, so 
as to destroy the hiatus." — John Scott. 

5 « Grots." MS. 



THE RTTINS OF SOME. 27 

Though, now incessant time has roll'd around 
A thousand winters o'er the changeful world, 
And yet a thousand since, th' indignant Hoods 
Hoar loud in their firm hounds, and dash and swell, 
In vain, convey'd to Tiber's lowest wave. 

Hence over airy plains, by crystal founts, 
That weave their glitt'ring waves with tuneful lapse 
Among the sleeky 1 pebbles, agate clear, 
Cerulean ophite, and the flow'ry vein 
Of orient jasper, pleas'd I move along, 
And vases boss'd, and huge inscriptive stones, 
And intermingling vines ; and figur'd nymphs, 
Floras and Chloes of delicious mould, 
Cheering the darkness ; and deep empty tombs, 
And dells, and mould'ring shrines, with old decay 
Rustic and green, and wide-embow'ring shades, 
Shot from the crooked clefts of nodding tow'rs. 
A solemn wilderness ! With error sweet, 
I wind the ling'ring step, where-e'er the path 
Mazy conducts me, which the vulgar foot 
O'er sculptures maim'd has made; Anubis, Sphinx, 
Idols of antique guise, and horned Pan, 

Terrific, monstrous shapes ! prepost'rous gods 2 
Of Fear and Ign'rance, by the sculptor's hand 
Hewn into form, and worshipp'd ; as even now 
Blindly they worship at their breathless mouths 3 
In varied appellations : men to these 
(From depth to depth in dark'ning error fall'ii) 
At length ascrib'd th' Inapplicable Name. 

How doth it please and fill 4 the memory 
With deeds of brave renown, while on each hand 
Historic urns and breathing statues rise, 
And speaking busts ! Sweet Scipio, Marius stern, 
Pompey superb, the spirit-stirring form 
Of Csesar, raptur'd with the charm of rule 
And boundless fame ; impatient for exploits, 
His eager eyes upcast, he soars in thought 
Above all height : and his own Brutus see, 

1 " Smooth." Milton uses sleek, sleeking, &c. — W. 

2 The MS. reads— 

* Hammer'd to form, and worshipp'd ; as eVn now 
Blindly they're worshipped under varied names ; 
Vile mediation ! men at length to these 
(From depth to depth in darkening error fall'n) 
Ascribed the pure inexplicable Name.' " 

3 Several statues of the Pagan gods have been converted into images of 
saints. 

* Tne MS. reads li fiood."—\Y. 



28 DTEE. 

Desponding Brutus, dubious of the right, 

In evil days of faith, of public weal, 

Solicitous and sad. Thy next regard 

Be Tully's graceful attitude ; uprais'd, 

His out-stretch'cl arm he waves, in act to speak 

Before the silent masters of the world, 

And Eloquence arrays him. 1 There behold, 

Prepar'd for combat in the front of war, 

The pious brothers ; jealous Alba stands 

In fearful expectation of the strife, 

And youthful Rome intent : the kindred foes 

Fall on each other's neck in silent tears ; 

In sorrowful benevolence embrace 

Howe'er, they soon unsheath the flashing sword, 
Their country calls to arms ; now all in vain 
The mother clasps the knee, and ev'n the fair 
Now weeps in vain ; their country calls to arms. 
Such virtue Clelia, Codes, Manlius, rous'd ; 
Such were the Fabii, Decii ; so inspir'd 
The Scipios battled, and the Gracchi spoke : 
So rose the Roman state. Me now, of these 
Deep-musing, high ambitious thoughts inflame 
Greatly to serve my country, distant land, 
And build me virtuous fame ; 2 nor shall the dust 
Of these fall'n piles with show of sad decay 
Avert the good resolve, mean argument, 

The fate alone of matter. 3 jN"ow the brow 

"We gain enraptur'd ; beauteously distinct 4 
The num'rous porticos and domes upswell, 
With obelisks and columns interpos'd, 
And pine, and fir, and oak : so fair a scene 
Sees not the dervise from the spiral tomb 
Of ancient Chammos, while his eye beholds 
Proud Memphis' relics o'er the ^Egyptian plain : 

i Never was a more vigorous expression used, or more happily suited to 
the figure on which it is bestowed. — Champion, March 8, 1739. — W. 

2 The MSS. under the date of 1727, furnish a very interesting illustration 
of this passage, and of the poet's mind. 

" The fear of want, and the pride of emulation, which nature seldom is 
wholly free from, has often made me endeavour to point my mind to the little 
and laborious business of gain : but such is the weakness or virtue of mv 
soul, that she loathes the concerns of a short and narrow profit, and obsti- 
nately attempts the cultivation of virtues that never fade. She requires a 
wider sphere to move in — yet a wider unbounded knowledge — unlimited 
action. She cares not to rest. She pants to draw nearer to her Maker in 
the flight of an endless ascent." — W. 

3 " Fate but of matter, of corporeal dross, 

Through which brave spirits rise to purer life." — W. 

4 From the Palatine hill one sees most of the remarkable antiquities. 



the bui:n t s OF ROME. 29 

Nor lioary hermit from Hymettus' brow, 

Though graceful Athens, in the vale beneath, 

Along the windings of the Muse's stream, 

Lucid Ilyssus, weeps her silent schools 

And groves, unvisited by bard or sage. 

Amid the tow'ry ruins, huge, supreme, 

Th' enormous amphitheatre behold, 1 

Mountainous pile ! o'er whose capacious womb 

Pours the broad firmament its varied light ; 

While from the central floor the seats ascend 

Hound above round, slow-wid'ning to the verge, 

A circuit vast and high : nor less had held 

Imperial Rome, and her attendant realms, 

When drunk with rule she will'd the fierce delight, 

And op'd the gloomy caverns, whence out-rush'd, 

Before th' innumerable shouting crowd, 

The fiery, madded, tyrants of the wilds, 

Lions and tigers, wolves and elephants, 2 

And desp'rate men, more fell. Abhorr'd intent ! 

By frequent converse with familiar death, 

To kindle brutal daring apt for war ; 

To lock the breast, and steel th' obdurate heart, 

Amid the piercing cries of sore distress 

Impenetrable. — But away thine eye ! 

Behold yon steepy cliff; the modern pile 

Perchance may now delight, while that, rever'd 3 

In ancient days, the page alone declares, 

Or narrow coin through dim cserulean rust. 

The fane was Jove's, its spacious golden roof, 

O'er thick-surrounding temples beaming wide, 

Appear'd, as when above the morning hills 

Half the round sun ascends ; and tow'rd aloft, 

Sustain'd by columns huge, innumerous 

As cedars proud on Canaan's verdant heights 

Dark'ning their idols, when Astarte lur'd 

Too prosp'rous Israel from his living strength. 

1 " Dyer says in a manuscript letter : — ' The amphitheatre also is admirable, 
and took me almost as much as the Pantheon, though in a quite different man- 
ner. Whereas the one pleases by curving its beauties on the eye in a large 
and equal swell, the other does so by flying the sight in the gradual spreading 
of its circles, and leaving the eye to the wide view of half the heavens.' " — \\ . 

2 " The MS. reading is finer :— 

' And to th' innumerable shouting crowd 
Loosed out the fiery monsters from their dens, 
Lions, and wolves, and bulls, and weaponed slaves, 
And hideous havoc' " — TV. 
s The Capitol. 



30 DTEE. 

And next regard yon venerable dome, 1 
Which virtuous Latium, with erroneous aim, 
Hais'd to her various deities, and nam'd 
Pantheon ; plain and round ; of this our world 
Majestic emblem; with peculiar grace, 
Before its ample orb, projected stands 
The many-pillar' d portal : noblest work 
Of human skill: here, curious architect, 
If thou assay'st, ambitious, to surpass 
Palladius, Angelus, or British Jones, 
On these fair walls extend the certain scale, 
And turn th' instructive compass : careful mark 
How far in hidden art, the noble plain 
Extends, and where the lovely forms commence 
Of flowing sculpture : nor neglect to note 
How range the taper columns, and what weight 
Their leafy brows sustain : fair Corinth first 
Boasted their order, which Callimachus 
(Reclining studious on Asopus' banks 
Beneath an urn of some lamented nymph) 
Haply compos'd ; the urn, with foliage curl'd 
Thinly conceal'd, the chapiter inform'd. 2 

See the tall obelisks 3 from Memphis old, 
One stone enormous each, or Thebes convey'd ; 
Like Albion's spires they rush into the skies. 
And there the temple, where the summon'd state 4 
In deep of night conven'd : ev'n yet, methinks, 
The vehement orator in rent attire 
Persuasion pours ; ambition sinks her crest ; 
And, lo ! the villain, like a troubled sea, 
That tosses up her mire ! Ever disguis'd, 
Shall Treason walk ? shall proud Oppression yoke 
The neck of Virtue ? Lo ! the wretch, abash'd, 

1 "Dyer, in one of his manuscript letters, describes the Pantheon with 
great life and picturesqueness. — * The Pantheon is the noblest building, per- 
haps, that ever was. It is a large concave, not lifted up like St. Paul's, or St. 
Peter's, (there the concave loses its effect) ; it appears just as you fancy the 
sky above you at sea, or in a large plain, in that proportion. I wonder none 
have considered it in this light, and that they prefer the modern cupolas to 
it. Besides this, a vast opening at top lets in but one great light, that 
spreads itself gently like a glory on all around. In short, it is not to be de- 
scribed, nor did I conceive it till I saw it.' " — W. 

2 " The Poet here probably meant, that the urn, thinly concealed with foliage, 
was a pattern for the capital of the column ; but he has not either pleasingly 
or clearly conveyed this sense, by saying that it informed the chapiter." — 
John Scott. 

3 See the tall obelisks, from Cairo's plains, 

Convey'd, or farther Thebes, each one vast stone ! 
Enormous in their heights, like Albion's spires. — MS. 
4 The temple of Concord, where the senate met on Cataline's conspiracy. 



the Exrora of eome. 31 

Self-betray'd Catiline ! Liberty, 

Parent of happiness ! celestial born ; 

When the first man became a living soul, 

His sacred genius thou ; be Britain's care ; 

With her secure, prolong thy lov'd retreat ; 

Thence bless mankind ; while yet among her sons, 

Ev n yet there are, to shield thine equal laws, 

Whose bosoms kindle at the sacred names 

Of Cecil, Raleigh, Walsingham, and Drake. 

May others more delight in tuneful airs ; 

In masque and dance excel : to sculptur'd stone 

Give with superior skill the living look ; 

More pompous piles erect, or pencil soft 

With warmer touch the visionary board i 1 

But thou, thy nobler Britons teach to rule ; 

To check the ravage of tyrannic sway ; 

To quell the proud ; to spread the joys of peace, 

And various blessings of ingenious trade. 

Be these our arts ; and ever may we guard, 

Ever defend thee with undaunted heart. 

Inestimable good ! who giv'st us Truth, 

Whose hand upleads to light, divinest Truth, 

Array'd in ev'ry charm : whose hand benign 

Teaches unwearied Toil to clothe the fields, 

And on his various fruits inscribes the name 

Of Property : O nobly hail'd of old 

By thy majestic daughters. Judah fair, 

And Tyrus and Sidonia, lovely nymphs, 

And Libya bright, and all- enchanting Greece, 

Whose num'rous towns, and isles, and peopled seas, 

Bejoic'd around her lyre ; th' heroic note 

(Smit with sublime delight) Ausonia caught, 

And plann'd imperial Eome. Thy hand benign 

Bear'd up her tow'ry battlements in strength ; 

Bent her wide bridges o'er the swelling stream 

Of Tuscan Tiber ; thine those solemn domes 

Devoted to the voice of humbler pray'r ; 

And thine those piles undeck'd, capacious, vast, 2 

In days of dearth, where tender Charity 

Dispens'd her timely succours to the poor. 

Thine, too, those musically-falling founts 

To slake the clammy lip ; adown they fall, 

1 May others, idly proud, in pomps amuse, 
Sweeter the song attune, or pencil soft 
With nicer hand the visionary board. MS, — W. 
2 The public granaries. 
X 



32 DTEE. 

Musical ever ; while from yon blue hills, 
Dim in the clouds, the radiant aqueducts 
Turn their innumerable arches o'er 
The spacious desert, bright 'ning in the sun, 
Proud and more proud in their august approach : 
High o'er irriguous vales and woods and towns, 
Glide the soft whispering waters in the wind, ! 
And here united pour their silver streams 
Among the figur'd rocks, in murm'ring falls, 
Musical ever. 2 These thy beauteous works : 
And what beside felicity could tell 
Of human benefit : more late the rest ; 
At various times their turrets chanc'd to rise, 
When impious Tyranny vouchsaf'd to smile. 

Behold by Tiber's flood, where modern Home 3 
Couches beneath the ruins : there of old 
With arms and trophies gleam' d the field of Mars : 
There to their daily sports the noble youth 
Eush'd emulous ; to fling the pointed lance ; 
To vault the steed ; or with the kindling wheel 
In dusty whirlwinds sweep the trembling goal ; 
Or, wrestling, cope with adverse swelling breasts, 
Strong grappling arms, close heads, and distant feet ; 
Or, clash the lifted gauntlets : there they form'd 
Their ardent virtues : in the bossy piles, 
The proud triumphal arches ; all their wars, 
Their conquests, honours, in the sculptures live. 
And see from ev'ry gate those ancient roads, 
With tombs high verg'd, the solemn paths 4 of Fame : 
Deserve they not regard ? O'er whose broad flmts 
Such crowds have roll'd, so many storms of war ; 5 
So many pomps ; so many wond'ring realms : 
Yet still through mountains pierc'cl, o'er valleys rais'd, 
In even state, to distant seas around, 
They stretch their pavements. 6 Lo, the fane of Peace, 
Built by that prince, 7 who to the trust of pow'r 

1 Glide the clear waves, soft whispering in the winds. — MS. 

2 « There are few poets whose works will afford a picture equal in gran- 
deur to this of the aqueducts commencing at the distant hills, turning their 
arches over the spacious desert, and terminating in the fountains of Eorne.' 1 
— John Scott. 

3 Modern Eome stands chiefly on the old Campus Martius. 
* Streets. MS. 

5 So many storms of war ; 
Such trains of consuls, tribunes, sages, kings ; 
So many pomps. MS. — W. 
6 Like the long level beams of guiding light, 
They stretch their pavements. MS. — W. 
7 Begun by Vespasian, and finished by Titus. 



THE ETJUSrS OF ROME. 33 

Was honest, tlie delight of human kind. 
Three nodding aisles remain ; the rest an heap 
Of sand and weeds ; her shrines, her radiant roofs, 
And columns proud, that from 1 her spacious floor, 
As from a shining sea, majestic rose 2 
An hundred foot aloft, like stately beech 
Around the brim of Dian's glassy lake, 
Charming the mimic painter : on the walls 
Hung Salem's sacred spoils ; the golden board, 
And golden trumpets, now conceal'd, entomb'd 
By the sunk roof. — O'er which 3 in distant view 
Th' Etruscan mountains swell, with ruins crown' d 
Of ancient towns ; and blue Soracte spires, 
Wrapping his sides in tempests. Eastward hence, 
Nigh where the Cestian pyramid divides 4 
The mould'ring wall, behold yon fabric huge, 
Whose dust the solemn antiquarian turns, 
And thence, in broken sculptures cast abroad, 
Like Sibyl's leaves, collects the builder's name 
Hejoic'd ; and the green medals, frequent found, 
Doom Caracalla to perpetual fame : 5 
The stately pines, that spread their branches wide 
In the dun ruins of its ample halls, 
Appear but tufts ; as may whate'er is high 
Sink in comparison, minute and vile. 

These, and unnumber'd, yet their brows uplift, 
Eeft of their graces ; as Britannia's oaks 

1 Through. MS. 

2 Majestic rose 
An hundred feet aloft, with foliage crowned ; 
As stately beech or poplar that embower 
Th' enamelled brim, &c. MS.— W. 
3 " Dyer was a painter, and knew the effect of adding to a principal figure 
a proper background ; he has availed himself of this advantage in the pre- 
sent instance. Over the sunk roof, 

• in distant view 
The Etruscan mountains swell,' " &c. 
These are the remarks of Scott, who considers the image of the mountain 
wrapt in tempests to be misplaced, since what was wrapt in tempests could 
not be seen. But Dyer only speaks of the top of blue Soracte; and surely 
the steeple of a church might be seen when the body is hidden in vapour. — W. 
* The tomb of Cestius, partly within and partly without the walls. _ 
5 Dyer wrote from Eome :— " I had a particular pleasure some time ago 
in walking over the ruins of Caracalla's Baths and palace. The ruins of tne 
baths at present take in a large vineyard, in the midst of which are the 
remains of the palace. Its rooms seem to have been vastly large, and noble 
in comparison to the trees which have shot up within them, which, though 
pretty large, appear but tufts. I was surprised at the frequent fallings in of 
the ground, to find apartments all under the vineyard. I went down a great 
way into them, and found them very spacious. This palace seems to have 
been the largest and in the noblest taste of any of the rest ; and it was here 
th?y dug up some of the best statues." — W. 

x 2 



32 DTEE. 

Musical ever ; while from yon blue hills, 
Dim in the clouds, the radiant aqueducts 
Turn their innumerable arches o'er 
The spacious desert, bright'ning in the sun, 
Proud and more proud in their august approach : 
High o'er irriguous vales and woods and towns, 
Glide the soft whispering waters in the wind, ! 
And here united pour their silver streams 
Among the figur'd rocks, in murm'ring falls, 
Musical ever. 2 These thy beauteous works : 
And what beside felicity could tell 
Of human benefit : more late the rest ; 
At various times their turrets chanc'd to rise, 
When impious Tyranny vouchsaf'd to smile. 

Behold by Tiber's flood, where modern Home 3 
Couches beneath the ruins : there of old 
With arms and trophies gleam'd the field of Mars : 
There to their daily sports the noble youth 
Eush'd emulous ; to fling the pointed lance ; 
To vault the steed ; or with the kindling wheel 
In dusty whirlwinds sweep the trembling goal ; 
Or, wrestling, cope with adverse swelling breasts, 
Strong grappling arms, close heads, and distant feet ; 
Or, clash the lifted gauntlets : there they form'd 
Their ardent virtues : in the bossy piles, 
The proud triumphal arches ; all their wars, 
Their conquests, honours, in the sculptures live. 
And see from ev'ry gate those ancient roads, 
With tombs high verg'd, the solemn paths 4 of Fame : 
Deserve they not regard ? O'er whose broad flints 
Such crowds have roll'd, so many storms of war ; 5 
So many pomps ; so many wond'ring realms : 
Yet still through mountains pierc'cl, o'er valleys rais'd, 
In even state, to distant seas around, 
They stretch their pavements. 6 Lo, the fane of Peace, 
Built by that prince, 7 who to the trust of pow'r 

1 Glide the clear waves, soft whispering in the winds. — MS. 

2 (( There are few poets whose works will afford a picture equal in gran- 
deur to this of the aqueducts commencing at the distant hills, turning their 
arches over the spacious desert, and terminating in the fountains of Borne.'* 
—John Scott. 

3 Modern Eome stands chiefly on the old Campus Martius. 
* Streets. MS. 

5 So many storms of war; 
Such trains of consuls, tribunes, sages, kings; 
So many pomps. MS. — W. 
6 Like the long level beams of guiding light, 
They stretch their pavements. MS. — W. 
" Begun by Vespasian, and finished by Titus. 



THE EUINS Or HOME. 33 

Was honest, tlie delight of human kind. 
Three nodding aisles remain ; the rest an heap 
Of sand and weeds ; her shrines, her radiant roofs, 
And columns proud, that from 1 her spacious floor, 
As from a shining sea, majestic rose 2 
An hundred foot aloft, like stately beech 
Around the brim of Dian's glassy lake, 
Charming the mimic painter : on the walls 
Hung Salem's sacred spoils ; the golden board, 
And golden trumpets, now conceal'd, entomb 'd 
By the sunk roof. — O'er which 3 in distant view 
Th' Etruscan mountains swell, with ruins crown'd 
Of ancient towns ; and blue Soracte spires, 
Wrapping his sides in tempests. Eastward hence, 
Nigh where the Cestian pyramid divides 4 
The mould'ring wall, behold yon fabric huge, 
Whose dust the solemn antiquarian turns, 
And thence, in broken sculptures cast abroad, 
Like Sibyl's leaves, collects the builder's name 
Rejoic'd ; and the green medals, frequent found, 
Doom Caracalla to perpetual fame : 5 
The stately pines, that spread their branches wide 
In the dun ruins of its ample halls, 
Appear but tufts ; as may what e'er is high 
Sink in comparison, minute and vile. 

These, and unnumber'd, yet their brows uplift, 
Reft of their graces ; as Britannia's oaks 

1 Through. MS. 

2 Majestic rose 
An hundred feet aloft, with foliage crowned ; 
As stately beech or poplar that embower 
Th' enamelled brim, &c. MS— W. 
3 " Dyer was a painter, and knew the effect of adding to a principal figure 
a proper background ; he has availed himself of this advantage in the pre- 
sent instance. Over the sunk roof, 

' in distant view 
The Etruscan mountains swell,' " &c. 
These are the remarks of Scott, who considers the image of the mountain 
wrapt in tempests to be misplaced, since what was wrapt in tempests could 
not be seen. But Dyer only speaks of the top of blue Soracte; and surely 
the steeple of a church might be seen when the body is hidden in vapour. — W. 

4 The tomb of Cestius, partly within and partly without the walls. _ 

5 Dyer wrote from Eome : — " I had a particular pleasure some time ago 
in walking over the ruins of Caracalla's Baths and palace. The ruins of tne 
baths at present take in a large vineyard, in the midst of which are the 
remains of the palace. Its rooms seem to have been vastly large, and noble 
in comparison to the trees which have shot up within them, which, though 
pretty large, appear but tufts. I was surprised at the frequent fallings in of 
the ground, to find apartments all under the vineyard. I went down a great 
way into them, and found them very spacious. This palace seems to have 
been the largest and in the noblest taste of any of the rest ; and it was here 
thfy dug up some of the best statues." — AV. 

x 2 



34 DYER. 

On Merlin's mount, or Snowdon's rugged sides, 

Stand in the clouds, their branches scatter'd round, 

After the tempest ; Mausoleums, Cirques, 

Naumachios, Forums : Trajan's column tall, 

From whose low base the sculptures wind aloft. 

And lead through various toils, up the rough steep, 

Its hero to the skies : and his dark tow'r 1 

Whose execrable hand the city fir'd, 

And, while the dreadful conflagration blaz'd, 

Play'd to the flames ; and Phoebus' letter'd dome ; 2 

And the rough reliques of Carina's street, 

Where now the shepherd to his nibbling sheep 

Sits piping with his oaten reed ; as erst 

There pip'd the shepherd to his nibbling sheep, 3 

When th' humble roof Anchises' son explor'd 

Of good Evander, wealth-despising king, 

Amid the thickets : so revolves the scene ; 

So Time ordains, who rolls the things of pride 

From dust again to dust. Behold that heap 

Of mould'ring urns (their ashes blown away, 

Dust of the mighty) the same story tells ; 

And at its base, from whence the serpent glides' 1 

Down the green desert street, yon hoary monk 

Laments the same, the vision as he views, 

The solitary, silent, solemn scene, 

Where Caesars, heroes, peasants, hermits, lie, 5 

Blended in dust together; where the slave 

Rests from his labours ; where th' insulting proud 

Resigns his pow'r ; the miser drops his hoard ; 

1 Nero's. 

2 The Palatine Library. 

3 Dyer writes in the margin : — " Perhaps a better word than nibbling may 
be found," and inserts " crowding," and " circling," in pencil, and " bleat- 
ing" in ink. — W. 

4 See Akenside, Pleasures of Imagination. B. ii. 680 : — 

'Desolation o'er the grass-grown street,' &c. — W. 

5 The reader will recollect the noble lines of Pope, in the Windsor Forest, — 

""Whom not th' extended Albion could contain, 
From old Belerium to the Northern main, 
The grave unites ; where e'en the great find rest, 
And blended lie th' oppressor andth' opprest." 

But the verses in Dyer's MSS. are different from the text : — 

" "Where Caesars, peasants, monks, returned to dust, 
O'erspread the waste; where all, together, He, 
Foemen and friends, the lofty and the low, 
The rich and poor, together; where the slave," &c. — W. 

Scott observes : " Pope's striking reflection is finely expanded by Dyer, 
and is an instance how two genuine pcets may express the same ideas with 
great difference, yet with equal beauty." — TV. 



THE ET7IXS OF EOME. 35 

Where human folly sleeps. — There is a mood, 

(I sing not to the vacant and the young) 

There is a kindly mood of Melancholy, 1 

That wings the soul, and points her to the skies ; 

When tribulation clothes the child of man, 

When age descends with sorrow to the grave, 

'Tis sweetly-soothing sympathy to pain, 

A gently wak'ning call to health and ease. 

How musical ! when all- devouring Time, 

Here sitting on his throne of ruins hoar, 

With winds and zephyrs sweeps his various lyre, 2 

How sweet thy diapason, Melancholy ! 

Cool ev'ning comes ; the setting sun displays 

His visible great round between yon tow'rs, 

As through two shady cliffs ; away, my Muse, 

Though yet the prospect pleases, ever new 

In vast variety, and yet delight 

The many-ngur'd sculptures of the path 

Half beauteous, half effac'd ; the traveller 

Such antique marbles to his native land 

Oft hence conveys ; and ev'ry realm and state 

With Rome's august remains, heroes and gods, 3 

Deck their long galleries and winding groves ; 

Yet miss we not th' innumerable thefts, 

Yet still profuse of graces teems the waste. 

Suffice it now th' Esquilian mount to reach 4 
With weary wing, and seek the sacred rest 
Of Maro's humble tenement ; a low 
Plain wall remains ; a little sun-gilt heap, 
Grotesque and wild ; the gourd and olive brown 
Weave the light roof: the gourd and olive fan 
Their am'rous foliage, mingling with the vine, 
Who drops her purple clusters through the green. 
Here let me lie, with pleasing fancy sooth'd : 

1 G-ilpin quotes these lines in his Observations on the Lakes of Cumberland. 
. — " The mind is not always indeed in unison with such scenes and circum- 
stances as these. When it does not happen to be so, no effect can be pro- 
duced. Sometimes indeed the scene may draw the mind into unison, if it be 
not under the impression of any strong passion of an opposite kind; but in a 
sort of neutral state. The effect, however, will always be strongest, when 
the mind happens to be possessed of ideas congenial to the scene — when, in 
a kindly mood of melancholy, it feels itself soothed by the objects around." 
—Works. T. ii. p. 39. Ed. 1808. 

2 The text reads — 

" While winds and tempests sweep his various lyre/* 
I give the improved reading from the MS. — W. 

3 With Roman reliques, moulder'd gods, and chiefs. MS.— W. 
4 Scott compares this passage to a tine tune, which will bear a tenth or 
a twentieth repetition, without becoming tedious. 



36 DYER. 

Here flow'd his fountain ; here his laurels grew ; 

Here oft the meek good man, the lofty bard, 

Eram'd the celestial song, or social walk'd 

With Horace, and the ruler of the world : 

Happy Augustus ! who, so well inspir'd, 

Couldst throw thy pomps and royalties aside, 

Attentive to the wise, the great of soul, 

And dignify thy mind. Thrice glorious days, 

Auspicious to the Muses ! then rever'd, 

Then hallow 'd was the fount, or secret shade, 

Or open mountain, or whatever scene 

The poet chose to tune th' ennobling rhyme 

Melodious ; ev'n the rugged sons of War, 

Ev'n the rude hinds rever'd the Poet's name. 

But now — another age, alas ! is ours — 

Yet will the Muse a little longer soar, 

Unless the clouds of care weigh down her wing, 

Since Nature's stores are shut with cruel hand, 

And each aggrieves his brother ; since in vain 

The thirsty pilgrim at the fountain asks 

Th' o'erflo wing wave. — Enough — the plaint disdain. — 

See'st thou yon fane P 1 ev'n now incessant Time 
Sweeps her low mould'ring marbles to the dust ; 
And Phoebus' temple, nodding with its woods, 
Threatens huge ruin o'er the small rotund. 
'Twas there beneath a fig-tree's umbrage broad, 
Th' astonish'd swains with rev'rend awe beheld 
Thee, O Quirinus, and thy brother- twin, 
Pressing the teat within a monster's grasp 
Sportive : while oft the gaunt and rugged wolf 
Turn'd her stretch'd neck, and form'd your tender 

limbs ; 
So taught of Jove, ev'n the fell savage fed 
Your sacred infancies ; your virtues, toils, 
The conquests, glories, of th' Ausonian state, 
Wrapp'd in their secret seeds. Each kindred soul, 
Hobust and stout, ye grapple to your hearts, 
And little Rome appears. Her cots arise, 
Green twigs of osier weave the slender walls, 
Green rushes spread the roofs ; and here and there 
Opens beneath the rock the gloomy cave. 
Elate with joy, Etruscan Tiber views 
Her spreading scenes enamelling his waves, 
Her huts and hollow dells, and flocks and herds, 
And gath'ring swains ; and rolls his yellow car 

1 The temple of Eomulus and Eemus under Mount Palatine. 



THE RDTffS OF ROME. 37 

To Neptune's court with more majestic train. 
Her speedy growth alarms the states around 
Jealous ; yet soon, by wond'rous virtue won, 
They sink into her bosom. From the plough 
Hose her dictators : fought, o'ercame, return'd, 
Yes, to the plough return'd, and hail'd their peers ; 
For then no private pomp, no household st ite, 
The public only swell'd the gen'rous breast. 
Who has not heard the Fabian heroes sung ? 
Dentatus' scars, or Mutius' naming hand? 
How Manlius sav'd the capitol ? the choice 
Of steady Hegulus ? As yet they stood, 
Simple of life ; as yet seducing wealth 
Was unexplor'd, and shame of poverty 
Yet unimagin'd — Shine not all the fields 
With various fruitage ? murmur not the brooks 
Along the fiow'ry valleys ? They, content, 
Feasted at nature's hand, indelicate, 
Blithe, in their easy taste ; and only sought 
To know their duties ; that their only strife, 
Their gen'rous strife, and greatly to perform. 
They, through all shapes of peril and of pain, 
Intent on honour, dar'd in thickest death 
To snatch the glorious deed. Nor Trebia quell'd, 1 
Nor Thrasymene, nor Cannae's bloody field, 
Their dauntless courage ; storming Hannibal 
In vain the thunder of the battle roll'd, 
The thunder of the battle they return'd 
Back on his Punic shores ; 'till Carthage fell, 
And danger fled afar. The city gleam'd 
With precious spoils : alas, prosperity ! 
Ah, baneful state ! yet ebb'd not all their strength 
In soft luxurious pleasures ; proud desire 
Of boundless sway, 2 and fev'rish thirst of gold, 
Eous'd them again to battle. Beauteous Greece, 
Torn from her joys, in vain with languid arm 
Half raised her rusty shield ; nor could avail 
The sword of Dacia, nor the Parthian dart ; 
Nor yet the car of that fam'd British chief, 

1 The MS. reads the passage thus : — 

Xor Trebia' s field, 
~Not Thrasymene, nor Cannae's purple plains 
Their courage quelled : in vain did Hannibal 
Hurl forth his lightnings ; strengthened in the storm 
Their valour huge increased, and cast the bolts 
Back on his Punic shores. — W. 

2 The MS. reads, empire for sway, and lase for feverish. — W, 



38 DYEE. 

Which seven brave years, beneath the doubtful 

wing 
Of vict'ry, dreadful roll'd its griding 1 wheels 
Over the bloody war : 2 the Roman arms 
Triumph' d, 'till Fame was silent of their foes. 

And now the world unrivall'd they enjoy 'd 
In proud security : the crested helm, 
The plated greave and corselet hung unbrac'd ; 
]N"or clank'd their arms, the spear and sounding shield, 
But on the glitt'ring trophy to the wind. 

Dissolv'd in ease and soft delights they lie, 
'Till ev'ry sun annoys, and ev'ry wind 
Has chilling force, and ev'ry rain offends : 
For now the frame no more is girt with strength 
Masculine, nor in lustiness of heart 
Laughs at the winter storm, and summer beam, 
Superior to their rage : enfeebling vice 
Withers each nerve, and opens every pore 
To painful feelings : now'ry bow'rs they seek 
(As aether prompts, as the sick sense approves) 
Or cool Nymphean grots ; or tepid baths 
(Taught by the soft Ionians) they, along 
The lawny vale, of ev'ry beauteous stone, 
Pile in the roseate air with fond expense : 
Through silver channels glide the fragrant waves, 3 
And fall on silver beds crystalline down, 
Melodious murmuring : while Luxury 
Over their naked limbs, with wanton hand, 
Sheds roses, odours, sheds unheeded bane. 

1 The word is used by Spenser, F. Q. ii. viii. 36 : 

" Till that at last, when he advantage spyde, 
His poynant spear he thrust with puissant sway, 
At proud Cymochles, while his shield was wyde, 
That through his thigh the mortall Steele did gryde." 
And by Milton describing the wound inflicted on Satan by the angel : 
" So sore 
The griding sword with discontinuous wound 
Pass'd through him." 

Paradise Lost, vi. 329. — W. 
3 The MS. reads— 

" Over the bloody war : the Eoman rule 
They far into the poles, and Indian wilds, 
And purple seas — where Phoebus rules the day, — 
Outstretched, till Fame was silent of their foes. 
Wide lay before them all the pleasant world, 
Its ancient thrones, its sceptres, and its pomps, 
And shining treasuries, to various crimes 
Seductive; all, unbounded, they enjoyed, 
In proud security." — W. 
3 The common text is " vagrant." I have inserted fragrant, from the 
MS.— W. 



THE EUIjS"S oe ro:me. 39 

Swift is the flight of wealth ; unnumber'd wants, 
Brood of volupt'ousness, cry out aloud 
^Necessity, and seek the splendid bribe ; 
The citron board, the bowl emboss'd with gems, 
And tender foliage wildly wreath' d around 
Of seeming ivy, by that artful hand, 
Corinthian Thericles ; whate'er is known 
Of rarest acquisition ; Tyrian garbs, 
Neptunian Albion's high testaceous food, 
And navour'd Chian wines, with incense fum'd 
To slake patrician thirst : for these, their rights 
In the vile streets they prostitute to sale ; 
Their ancient rights, their dignities, their laws, 
Their native glorious freedom. Is there none, 
Is there no villain, that will bind the neck 
Stretch' d to the yoke? they come : the market throngs. 
But who has most by fraud or force amass'd ? 
Who most can charm corruption with his doles ? 
He be the monarch of the state ; and lo ! 
Didius, vile us'rer, through the crowd he mounts, * 
Beneath his feet the Roman eagle cow'rs, 
And the red arrows fill his grasp uncouth. 
O Britons, O my countrymen, beware, 
Gird, gird your hearts ; the Romans once were free, 
Were brave, were virtuous. — Tyranny howe'er 
Deign'd to walk forth awhile in pageant state, 
And with licentious pleasures fed the rout, 
The thoughtless many : to the wanton sound 
Of fifes and drums they danc'd, or in the shade 
Sung Caesar, great and terrible in war, 
Immortal Caesar ! lo, a God, a God, 
He cleaves the yielding skies ! Caesar meanwhile 
Gathers the ocean pebbles ; or the gnat 
Enrag'd pursues ; or at his lonely meal 
Starves a wide province ; tastes, dislikes, and flings 
To dogs and sycophants : a God, a God ! 
The flow'ry shades and shrines obscene return. 

But see along the north the tempest swell 
O'er the rough Alps, and darken all their snows ! 
Sudden the Goth and Vandal, dreaded names, 2 

1 Didius Julianus, who bought the empire. 

2 The MS. reads— 

" Sudden the Goths and Vandals, dreaded names, 
Eush as the breach of waters o'er their bowers. 
Their festive piles and vineyards, whelming all. 

But the printed verses are in every way grander and more musical. — W. 



40 DYER. 

Rush as the breach of waters, whelming all 
Their domes, their villas : down the festive piles, 
Down fall their Parian porches, gilded baths, 
And roll before the storm in clouds of dust. 

Yain end of human strength, of human skill, 
Conquest, and triumph, and domain, and pomp, 
And ease, and luxury ! O luxury, 
Bane of elated life, of affluent states, 
What dreary change, what ruin is not thine ? 
How doth thy bowl intoxicate the mind ! 
To the soft entrance of thy rosy cave 
How dost thou lure the fortunate and great ! 
Dreadful attraction ! while behind thee gapes 
Th' unfathomable gulph where Ashur lies 
O'erwhelm'd. forgotten ; and high-boasting Cham ; 
And Elam's haughty pomp : and beauteous Greece ; 
And the great queen of earth, imperial Rome. 1 

1 The MS. adds two lines :— 

"Imperial Rome, 
On whose o'ertrodden throne, lo, yet abides 
Pale Desolation weeping o'er the wilds." — W. ' 

" The conclusions describes, in the most animated manner, the irruptions of 
the G-oths and Yandals, with their consequences ; and reflects with equal 
dignity and pathos on the fatal effects of national luxury." — J. Scott, Critical 
Essays, p. 151. (1785).— W. 



41 



THE FLEECE. 

" Post majores quadrupedes ovilli pecoris secunda ratio est, quae prima 
sit, si ad utilitatis magnitudinern referas : nam id prsecipue nos contra 
frigoris violentiam protegit, corporibusque nostris liberaliora preebet vela- 
mina." — Columella. 

[The Fleece was published in the spring of 1757, in quarto, at the 
price of five shillings. The first Book differs very slightly from 
the original argument. The principal omission is that of the 
" Discovery of Painting by the shade of sheep traced on the snow." 
The plan of the second Book is also seldom altered ; hut at the 
four hundred and fifty-sixth line Dyer greatly changed the Copy, 
and had carefully finished the following passage, which he after- 
wards cancelled : 

" There is a means, without the'tedious clog 
Of register expensive, without force, 
Which easy Xature points, to check his frauds. 
Ye senate chiefs, ye men of public heart, 
Let rural walks sometimes delight ; ev'n scenes 
Of far retirement; among erring streams, 
And wilds uncultured : aid the willing band 
Of bonest labour in those plains remote 
Prom tbe smooth syren of the G-allic coast, 
Alluring luxury, whose specious smiles 
Shed subtle poisons. Cast your affluence 
Down to comparison with anxious want, 
And meagre penury : behold the poor, 
Whose tireless hearth prepares them no repast ; 
For whom no vine the purple cluster hangs, 
To cheer their heart ; no corn unfolds its ear; 
!N"or shade from heat, nor shelter from the storm, 
Can they demand ; beneath the boundless sky 
Ko property appears which they can claim : 
IS~o thing so small that poverty can say, 
See, this is mine. But, henceforth, tune your songs, 
Ye sedulous poor ; the vallies uncorrupt 
Of distant regions with your yellow cots 
Smiling shall glisten : the high-chmbing crofts 
Of the Brigantes, with your curious looms, 
(The gift of sympathising affluence,) 
Shall murmur ; or the lofty mountain sides, 
Where Cambro-britons brace their nervous limbs, 
And o'er the oaten cake, and fountain draught, 
Rejoice. O guardian of our ambient main, 
Keptunian Anson, smile upon the port 
Of straw-built Aberystwith that awaits 
Thy trident's power ; instruct her rugged rocks 
To spare the trading vessel, or her crags 
Collect, and heave them from the liquid path : 
So shall the dales around Plinlimmon's base 
With copious fleeces of Ierne shine, 
And gulphy Caledonia, wisely bent 
On wealthy fisheries and flaxen webs : 
So shall the sister realms amid their seas, 
Like the three Graces, in harmonious fold, 



42 DTEE. 

By mutual aid enhance their various charms, 
And bless remotest climes — or errs the Muse, 
Whose wide benevolence is unconfined, 
Lost like the waters of a shoreless streamy 
No rising greens, but thirsty sands around, 
However willing in its course. Away, 
Ye barbarous proud, whose passions would immure 
In your own little heart the joys of life, 
(Unsocial things !) for your repast alone," &c. 

The third book was to have commenced with ' ' Invocation to 
Gfloriana, the Minerva of Britain — Description of the temple which 
the Muse dedicates to her, and the subjects of its sculptures — Our 
ancestors ignorant of trade — Their former manners and customs — 
Woollen manufacture established here by Gloriana, and the ex- 
portation of it severely prohibited — A description of the schools of 
Minerva, in which appears the process of the woollen manufacture." 
Dyer's pure taste soon withdrew him from this path, and showed 
him the way to nature and truth. The fourth Book is greatly 
varied from the original argument, which was this : — 

" Our manufactures exported — Voyage of the fleets through the 
channel — Our coast described — Their separation in the ocean to 
the several nations they traffic with — Short geographical descrip- 
tion of the globe — Views of several coasts — Indian ocean — Won- 
ders of the Creator in the deep, and the vast creatures of it 
described — The awful casualties of storms, calms, and sea fights 
— Our dominion at sea — Indian isles — China — Account of its 
wall, canals, porcelain, temples, silks, drugs, &c. — Return of our 
ships with the treasures, languages, and wisdom of all nations — 
Sir T. Roe's account, before Queen Elizabeth and the council, of 
his embassy to Hindostan, and the countries he passed through 
— Arbitrary governments of them — Effects of arbitrary govern- 
ment — His arrival at the Mogul's court — The Mogul described 
in robes of English cloth, &c. — The ambassador's admonitions 
concerning trade and manufactures, and remarks on the happy 
situation of the British isles — Conclusion."] 

BOOK I. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

The subject proposed — Dedicatory address — Of pastures in general 
fit for sheep : for fine-woolled sheep : for loug-woolled sheep — 
Defects of pastures, and their remedies — Of climates — The 
moisture of the English climate vindicated — Particular beauties 
of England — Different kinds of English sheep : the two common 
sorts of rams described. Different kinds of foreign sheep — The 
several sorts of food — The distempers arising from thence, with 
their remedies — Sheep led by instinct to their proper food and 
physic. Of the shepherd's scrip and its furniture — Care of sheep 



THE FLEECE. 43 

in tupping time — Of the castration of lambs, and the folding of 
sheep — Various precepts relative to changes of weather and 
seasons — Particular care of new-fallen lambs — The advantages 
and security of the English shepherd above those in hotter or 
colder climates ; exemplified with respect to Lapland, Italy, 
Greece, and Arabia — Of sheep -shearing — Song on that occasion — 
Custom in Wales of sprinkling the rivers with flowers — Sheep - 
shearing feast and merriments on the banks of the Severn. 

The care of Sheep, the labours of the Loom, 
And arts of Trade, I sing. Ye rural nymphs, 
Ye swains, and princely merchants, aid the verse. 
And ye, high-trusted guardians of our isle, 
Whom public voice approves, or lot of birth 1 
To the great charge assigns : ye good, of all 
Degrees, all sects, be present to my song. 
So may distress, and wretchedness, and want, 
The wide felicities of labour learn : 
So may the proud attempts of restless Gaul 
From our strong borders, like a broken wave, 
In empty foam retire. But chiefly Thou, 
The people's shepherd, eminently plac'd 
Over the num'rous swains of ev'ry vale, 
With well-permitted pow'r and watchful eye, 
On each gay field to shed beneficence, 
Celestial office ! — Thou protect the son£. 

On spacious airy downs, and gentle hills, 
"With grass and thyme o'erspread, and clover wild, 
Where smiling Phcebus tempers ev'ry breeze, 
The fairest nocks rejoice ! they, nor of halt, 
Hydropic tumours, nor of rot, complain ; 
Evils deform' d and foul : nor with hoarse cough 
Disturb the music of the past'ral pipe : 
But, crowding to the note, with silence soft 
The close-wov'n carpet graze ; where nature blends 
Flowrets and herbage of minutest size, 
Innoxious luxury. Wide airy downs 
Are Health's gay walks to shepherd and to sheep. 

Ail arid soils, with sand, or chalky flint, 
Or shells deluvian mingled : and the turf, 
That mantles over rocks of brittle stone, 
Be thy regard : and where low-tufted broom, 

1 Dyer was not pleased with the run of these verses, and suggested a new 
reading to Dodsley : — 

" "Whom public choice to the great charge assigns, 
Or lot of birth ; ye good of ail degrees. 
Parties and sects, be present to my song.'' J 



44 DYER. 

Or box, or berry'd juniper arise ; 
Or the tall growth of glossy -rinded beech ; 
And where the burrowing rabbit turns the dust ; 
And where the dappled deer delights to bound. 

Such are the downs of Banstead, 1 edg'd with woods, 
And tow'ry villas ; such Dorcestrian fields, 
"Whose flocks innum'rous whiten all the land : 
Such those slow-climbing wilds, that lead the step 
Insensibly to Dover's windy cliff, 
Tremendous height ! and such the clover'd lawns 
And sunny mounts of beauteous Normanton, 2 
Health's cheerful haunt, and the selected walk 
Of Heathcote's 3 leisure : such the spacious plain 
Of Sarum, spread like ocean's boundless round, 
Where solitary Stonehenge, grey with moss, 4 
Ruin of ages, nods : such too the leas 
And ruddy tilth, which spiry Ross beholds, 
From a green hillock, o'er her lofty elms ; 
And Lemster's brooky tract, and airy Croft ; 5 
And such Harleian Ey wood's 6 swelling turf, 
Wav'd as the billows of a rolling sea : 
And Shobden, 7 for its lofty terrace fam'd, 
Which from a mountain's ridge, elate o'er woods, 
And girt with all Siluria, 8 sees around 
Regions on regions blended in the clouds. 
Pleasant Siluria, land of various views, 
Hills, rivers, woods, and lawns, and purple groves 
Pomaceous, 9 mingled with the curling growth 
Of tendril hops, that flaunt upon their poles, 
More airy wild than vines along the sides 

i " The chief recommendation of Epsom is its situation on the skirts of that 
open country, called Banstead Downs, celebrated for hunting, racing, 
cricket-matches, and mutton. These downs consist of beautiful sweeps of 
intersecting grounds; disfigured indeed here and there by a chalky soil, but 
adorned with rich and very picturesque distances." — Gilpin, Observations 
on the Western Parts of England, p. 4, 

2 ISTormanton, a seat of Sir John Heathcote, in Eutlandshire. 

3 Heathcote presented Dyer to the hying of Coningsby, in 1752. 

4 Dyer proposed two alterations : — 

" Where moss-grey Stonehenge, lonely, solemn, nods, 
or, 

" Where solitary Stonehenge solemn nods, 
Euin of ages ; such the matted leas," &c. 
il Grey with moss" he did not consider to be so poetical. — W. 

5 Croft, a seat of Sir Archer Croft. 

6 Eywood, of the Earl of Oxford. 

7 Shobden, of Lord Bateman. 

8 Siluria, the part of England which lies west of the Severn, viz., Here- 
fordshire, Monmouthshire, &c. 

9 One of the words coined by Dyer ; the allusion is to the apple orchards 
of Herefordshire.— W. 



THE FLEECE. 45 

Of treacherous Falenmm ; J or that hill 
Yesuvius, where the bow'rs of Bacchus rose, 
And Herculanean and Pompeian domes. 

But if thy prudent care would cultivate 
Leicestrian fleeces, what the sinewy arm 
Combs through the spiky steel in lengthen' d flakes ; 
Rich saponaceous loam, that slowly drinks 
The black'ning show'r, and fattens with the draught, 
Or marl with clay deep-mix'd, 2 be then thy choice, 
Of one consistence, one complexion, spread 
Through all thy glebe ; where no deceitful veins 
Of envious gravel lurk beneath the turf, 
To loose the creeping waters from their springs, 
Tainting the pasturage : and let thy fields 
In slopes descend and mount, that chilling rains 
May trickle off, and hasten to the brooks. 

Yet some defect in all on earth appears ; 
All seek for help, all press for social aid. 
Too cold the grassy mantle of the marl, 
In stormy winter's long and dreary nights, 
For cumbent sheep ; from broken slumber oft 
They rise benumb'd, and vainly shift the couch ; 
Their wasted sides their evil plight declare. 
Hence, tender in his care, the shepherd swain 
Seeks each contrivance. Here it would avail, 
At a meet distance from the upland ridge, 3 
To sink a trench, and on the hedge-long bank 
Sow frequent sand, with lime, and dark manure, 
Which to the liquid element will yield 
A porous way, a passage to the foe. 
Plough not such pastures : deep in spongy grass 
The oldest carpet is the warmest lair, 
And soundest ; in new herbage coughs are heard. 

]N"or love too frequent shelter : such as decks 
The vale of Severn, 4 nature's garden wide, 

1 Treacherous, because part of the hills of Falernum was many yeais ago 
overturned b} an eruption of fire, and is now a high and barren mount of 
cinders, called Monte jSuoyo. 

2 This line was probably one of Dodsley's alterations. Dyer directs him 
either to restore the copy, " or heavy marie' s deep clay," or to adopt a 
variation, and read, — 

" Or depth of heavy marie be then thy choice." 
" The absurdity (he says) of ' marl with clay deep-mix'd,' is very glaring to 
us graziers." — TV. 

3 Dyer desires Dodsley to replace " sheltering mound." — W. 

4 " It was the Vale of Severn which was spread before us. Perhaps no- 
where in England a distance so rich, and at the same time so extensive, can 
be found. We had a view of it almost from one end to the other, as it wound 
through the space of many leagues, in a direction nearly from west to north : 



46 DYEK. 

By the blue steeps of distant Malvern 1 wall'd, 

Solemnly vast. The trees of various shade, 

Scene behind scene, with fair delusive pomp 

Enrich the prospect, but they rob the lawns. 

Nor prickly brambles, white with woolly theft, 

Should tuft thy fields. Applaud not the remiss 

Dimetians, 2 who along their mossy dales 

Consume, like grasshoppers, the summer hour ; 

While round them stubborn thorns and furze increase, 

And creeping briars. I knew a careful swain, 

Who gave them to the crackling flames, and spread 

Their dust saline upon the deep'ning grass : 

And oft with labour-strengthen'd arm he delv'd 

The draining trench across his verdant slopes, 

To intercept the small meand'ring rills 

Of upper hamlets : haughty trees, that sour 

The shaded grass, that weaken thorn-set mounds, 

And harbour villain crows, he rare allow'd : 

Only a slender tuft of useful ash, 

And mingled beech and elm, securely tall, 

The little smiling cottage warm embower'd ; 

The little smiling cottage, where at eve 

He meets his rosy children at the door, 

Prattling their welcomes, and his honest wife, 

With good brown cake and bacon slice, intent 

To cheer his hunger after labour hard. 

Nor only soil, there also must be found 
Felicity of clime, and aspect bland, 
Where gentle si jeep may nourish locks of price. 
In vain the silken fleece on windy brows, 
And northern slopes of cloud- dividing hills 
Is sought, though soft Iberia spreads her lap 
Beneath their rugged feet, and names their heights 
Biscaian, or Segovian. Bothnic realms, 
And dark Norwegian, with their choicest fields, 

at length we began to examine the detail, and to separate the vast immensity 
before us into parts. To the north, we looked up the Vale, along the course 
of the Severn. The town of Cheltenham lay beneath our feet, then at the dis- 
tance of two or three miles. The Vale appeared afterwards confined between 
Bredon Hills on the right, and those of Malvern on the left. Eight between 
these, in the middle of the Vale, lay Tewkesbury, bosomed in wood. A little 
to the right, but in distance very remote, we might see the towers of Wor- 
cester, if the day were clear; especially if some accidental gleam of light 
relieved them from the hills of Shropshire, which close the scene. To the 
west, we looked toward Gloucester. Beyond Gloucester the eye still pur- 
sued the Yale into remote distance, till it united with a range of mountains." 
— Gilpik, On the Wye, p. 9. (1800.)— W. 

1 Malvern, a high ridge of hills near Worcester. 

2 Dimetia, Caermarthenshire in South Wales. 



THE ELEECE. 47 

Dingles, and dells, by lofty fir embower'd, 

In vain the bleaters conrt. Alike they shun 

Libya's hot plains ; what taste have they for groves 

Of palm, or yellow dust of gold ? no more 

Food to the nock, than to the miser wealth, 

Who kneels upon the glittering heap, and starves. 

Ev'n Gallic Abbeville the shining fleece, 

That richly decorates her loom, acquires 

Basely from Albion, by th' ensnaring bribe, 

The bait of av'rice, which, with felon fraud 

For its own wanton mouth, from thousands steals. 

How erring oft the judgment in its hate, 
Or fond desire ! Those slow-descending show'rs, 
Those hov'ring fogs, that bathe our growing vales 
In deep November (loath'd by trifling Gaul, 
Effeminate), are gifts the Pleiads shed, 
Britannia's handmaids. As the bev'rage falls, 
Her hills rejoice, her valleys laugh and sing. 

Hail, noble Albion ! where no golden mines, 
No soft perfumes, nor oils, nor myrtle bow'rs, 
The vig'rous frame and lofty heart of man 
Enervate : round whose stern cerulean brows 
White -winged snow, and cloud, and pearly rain, 
Erequent attend, with solemn majesty ; 
Eich queen of mists and vapours ! These thy sons 
With their cool arms compress, and twist their nerves 
Eor deeds of excellence and high renown. 
Thus form'd, our Edwards, Henrys, Churchills, 

Blakes, 
Our Lockes, our JN~ewtons, and our Miltons, rose. 

See the sun gleams ; the living pastures rise, 
After the nurture of the fallen show'r, 
How beautiful ! how blue th' ethereal vault ; 
How verdurous the lawns, how clear the brooks ! 
Such noble warlike steeds, such herds of kine, 
So sleek, so vast ; such spacious flocks of sheep, 
Like flakes of gold illumining the green, 
What other paradise adorn but thine, 
Britannia ? happy, if thy sons would know 
Their happiness. To these thy naval streams, 
Thy frequent towns superb of busy trade, 
And ports magnific add, and stately ships, 
Innumerous. But whither strays my muse ? 
Pleas 'd, like a traveller upon the strand 
Arriv'd of bright Augusta j 1 wild he roves 
1 The poetical name of London. — W. 
Y 



48 DYER. 

From deck to deck, through groves immense of masts; 

'M ong crowds, bales, cars, the wealth of either Ind ; 

Through wharfs, and squares, and palaces, and domes, 

In sweet surprise ; unable yet to fix 

His raptur'd mind, or scan in order'd course 

Each object singly ; with discov'ries new 

His native country studious to enrich. 

Ye shepherds, if your labours hope success, 
Be first your purpose to procure a breed 
To soil and clime adapted. Ev'ry soil 
And clime, ev'n ev'ry tree and herb, receives 
Its habitant peculiar : each to each, 
The Great Invisible, and each to all, 
Through earth, and sea, and air, harmonious suits. 
Tempestuous regions, Darwent's 1 naked peaks, 
Snowdon and blue Plynlymmon, 2 and the wide 
Aerial sides of Cader-yddris huge ; 
These are bestow'd on goat-horn'd sheep, of fleece 
Hairy and coarse, of long and nimble shank, 
Who rove o'er bog or heath, and graze or browse 
Alternate, to collect, with due dispatch, 
O'er the bleak wild, the thinly-scatfcer'd meal. 
But hills of milder air, that gently rise 
O'er dewy dales, a fairer species boast, 
Of shorter limb, and frontlet more ornate ; 
Such the Silurian. If thy farm extends 
Near Cotswold downs, 3 or the delicious groves 
Of Symmonds, honour'd through the sandy soil 
Of elmy Ross, 4 or Devon's myrtle vales, 
That drink clear rivers near the glassy sea ; 
Regard this sort, and hence thy sire of lambs 
Select : his tawny fleece in ringlets curls ; 
Long swings his slender tail ; his front is fenc'd 
With horns Ammonian, circulating twice 
Around each open ear, like those fair scrolls 
That grace the columns of th' Ionic dome. 

Yet should thy fertile glebe be marly clay, 

1 Darwent's naked peaks, the peaks of Derbyshire. 

2 Snowdon, Plynlynrmon, and Cader-yddris, high hills in !N~orth Wales. 

3 " The comity of Gloucester is divided into three capital parts : the Wolds, 
or high downy grounds towards the east, the Vale of Severn in the middle, 
and the Forest of Dean towards the west. The first of these tracts of country 
we had been traversing from our entrance into Gloucestershire; and the 
ridge we now stood on made the extremity of it." — Gilpin, Observations on 
the Wye, p. 7. (1800.)— W. 

4 There is great truth in the epithet " elmy," applied to Eoss, in Here- 
fordshire. The elms in the churchyard, and 'in the Prospect Walk which 
joins it, were planted by John Kyrle/the " Man of Eoss," who lives for ever 
in Pope.— W. 



THE FLEECE. 49 

Like Melton pastures, or Tripontian fields, 1 
Where ever-gliding Avon's limpid wave 
Thwarts the long course of dusty Watling-street ; 
That larger sort, of head defenceless, seek, 
Whose fleece is deep and clammy, close and plain : 
The ram short-limb 'd, whose form compact describes 
One level line along his spacious back ; 
Of full and ruddy eye, large ears, stretch'd head, 
Nostrils dilated, breast and shoulders broad, 
And spacious haunches, and a lofty dock. 

Thus to their kindred soil and air indue 5 d, 
Thy thriving herd will bless thy skilful care, 
That copies nature ; who, hi ev'ry change, 
In each variety, with wisdom works, 
And pow'rs diversified of air and soil, 
Her rich materials. Hence Sahara's rocks, 
Chaldaea's marie, iEgyptus' water'd loam, 
And dry Cyrene's sand, in climes alike, 
With diffrent stores supply the marts of trade. 
Hence Zembla's icy tracts no bleaters hear ; 
Small are the Russian herds, and harsh their fleece : 
Of light esteem Germanic, far remote 
From soft sea-breezes, open winters mild, 
And summers bath'd in dew : on Syrian sheep 
The costly burden only loads their tails : 
No locks Cormandel's, none Malacca's tribe 
Adorn ; but sleek of flix, and brown like deer, 
Fearful and shepherdless, they bound along 
The sands. No fleeces wave in torrid climes, 
Which verdure boast of trees and shrubs alone, 
Shrubs aromatic, coffee wild, or tea, 
Nutmeg, or cinnamon, or fiery clove, 
Unapt to feed the fleece. The food of wool 
Is grass or herbage soft, that ever blooms 
In temp 'rate air, in the delicious downs 
Of Albion, on the banks of all her streams. 

Of grasses are unnumber'd kinds, and all 
(Save where foul waters linger on the turf) 
Salubrious. Early mark, when tepid gleams 
Oft mingle with the pearls of summer show'rs, 
And swell too hastily the tender plains : 
Then snatch away thy sheep ; beware the rot ; 
And with detersive bay-salt rub their mouths ; 
Or urge them on a barren bank to feed, 

1 Tripontian fields, the country between Kugby, in Yranvidishire, and 
Lutterworth, in Leicestershire. 

T 2 



52 DTEE. 

As fell of old, before tliat engine's sway, 1 
Which hence Ambition imitative wrought, 
The beauteous tow'rs of Salem to the dust. 

Wise custom, at the fifth or sixth return, 
Or ere they've past the twelfth of orient morn, 
Castrates the lambkins ; necessary rite, 
Ere they be number'd of the peaceful herd. 
But kindly watch whom thy sharp hand has griev'd, 
In those rough months, that lift the turning year : 
Not tedious is the office ; to thy aid 
Eavonius hastens ; soon their wounds he heals, 
And leads them skipping to the flow'rs of May ; 
May, who allows to fold, if poor the tilth, 
Like that of dreary, houseless, common fields, 
Worn by the plough : but fold on fallows dry ; 
Enfeeble not thy flock to feed thy land : 
Nor in too narrow bounds the pris'ners crowd : 
Nor ope the wattled fence, 2 while balmy morn 
Lies on the reeking pasture ; wait till all 
The crystal dews, impearl'd upon the grass, 
Are touch' d by Phoebus' beams, and mount aloft, 
With various clouds to paint the azure sky. 

In teasing fly-time, dank, or frosty days, 
With unctuous liquids, or the lees of oil, 
!Rub their soft skins, between the parted locks ; 
Thus the Brigantes ; 3 'tis not idle pains : 
Nor is that skill despis'cl, which trims their tails, 
Ere summer heats, of filth and tagged wool. 
Coolness and cleanliness to health conduce. 

To mend thy mounds, to trench, to clear, to soil 
Thy grateful fields, to medicate thy sheep, 
Hurdles to weave, and cheerly shelters raise, 
Thy vacant hours require : and ever learn 
Quick aether's motions : oft the scene is turn'd ; 
Now the blue vault, and now the murky cloud, 
Hail, rain, or radiance ; these the moon will tell, 
Each bird and beast, and these thy fleecy tribe : 
When high the sapphire cope, supine they couch, 
And chew the cud delighted ; but, ere rain, 
Eager, and at unwonted hour, they feed : 
Slight not the warning ; soon the tempest rolls, 

1 The battering rani. 

2 The critic of the Fleece, in the Monthly Revieiv, observed the disagree- 
ment between Dyer and Virgil — 

" Luciferi primo cum sidere, frigida rura 
Carpamus : dum mane novum, dum gramina canent, 
Et ros in tenera pecori gratissimus herba est/ 5 — Geor. iii. 326. — W, 

3 The inhabitants of Yorkshire, 



THE FLEECE. 53 

Scattering tliem wide, close rushing at the heels 

Of tli' hurrying overtaken swains : forbear 

Such nights to fold ; such nights be theirs to shift 

On ridge or hillock ; or in homesteads soft, 

Or softer cotes, detain them. Is thy lot 

A chill penurious turf, to all thy toils 

"[Intractable ? Before harsh winter drowns 

The noisy dykes, and starves the rushy glebe, 

Shift the frail breed to sandy hamlets warm : 

There let them sojourn, till gay Procne skims 1 

The thick'ning verdure, and the rising flow'rs. 

And while departing Autumn all embrowns 

The frequent-bitten fields ; while thy free hand 

Divides the tedded hay ; then be their feet 

Accustom'd to the barriers of the rick, 

Or some warm umbrage ; lest, in erring fright, 

When the broad dazzling snows descend, they run 

Dispers'd to ditches, where the swelling drift 

Wide overwhelms : anxious, the shepherd swains 

Issue with axe and spade, and, all abroad, 

In doubtful aim explore the glaring waste ; 

And some, perchance, in the deep delve upraise, 

Drooping, ev'n at the twelfth cold dreary day, 

With still continued feeble pulse of life ; 

The glebe, their fleece, their flesh, by hunger gnaw'd. 

Ah, gentle shepherd, thine the lot to tend, 
Of all, that feel distress, the most assail'd, 
Feeble, defenceless : lenient be thy care : 
But spread around thy tend'rest diligence 
In flow'ry spring-time, when the new-dropt lamb, 
Tott'ring with weakness by his mother's side, 
Feels the fresh world about him ; and each thorn, 
Hillock, or furrow, trips his feeble feet : ' z 
O guard his meek sweet innocence from all 
Th' innum'rous ills, that rush around his life ; 
Mark the quick kite, with beak and talons prone, 
Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain ; 
Observe the lurking crows ; beware the brake, 
There the sly fox the careless minute waits ; 
Nor trust thy neighbour's dog, nor earth, nor sky : 
' Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide. 



1 The swallow. 

2 " Lucretiusls here very happily imitated ; the artubus infirmis of that[poet 
being not only "translated, but accompanied with additional imagery; ana, 
towards the conclusion, the idea of teaching charity to the children by their 
feeding the little lamb, carries with it every moral charm." — Drake, Literary 
Hours, i. 173. 



54 DYER. 

Eurus oft flings his hail ; the tardy fields 
Pay not their promis'd food ; and oft the dam 
O'er her weak twins with empty udder mourns, 
Or fails to guard, when the bold bird of prey 
Alights, and hops in many turns around, 
And tires her also turning: To her aid 
Be nimble, and the weakest, in thine arms, 
Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft, 
Between the lark's note and the nightingale's, 
His hungry bleating still with tepid milk : 
In this soft office may thy children join, 
And charitable habits learn in sport : 
Nor yield him to himself, ere vernal airs 
Sprinkle thy little croft with daisy flow'rs : 
]N"or yet forget him : life has rising ills : 
Various as sether is the past'ral care : 
Through slow experience, by a patient breast, 
The whole long lesson gradual is attain' d, 
By precept after precept, oft received 
With deep attention : such as JSTttceus 1 sings 
To the full vale near Soar's 2 enamour 'd brook, 
While all is silence : sweet Hinclean swain ! 
Whom rude obscurity severely clasps : 
The muse, howe'er, will deck thy simple cell 
With purple violets and primrose flow'rs, 
Well-pleas'd thy faithful lessons to repay. 

Sheep no extremes can bear : both heat and cold 
Spread sores cutaneous ; but, more frequent, heat : 
The fly-blown vermin, from their woolly nest, 
Press to the tortur'd skin, and flesh, and bone, 
In littleness and number dreadful foes. 
Long rains in miry winter cause the halt ; 
Painy luxuriant summers rot your flock ; 
And all excess, ev'n of salubrious food, 
As sure destroys, as famine or the wolf. 
Inferior theirs to man's world-roving frame, 
Which all extremes in ev'ry zone endures. 

With grateful heart, ye British swains, enjoy 
Your gentle seasons and indulgent clime. 
Lo, in the sprinkling clouds, your bleating hills 
Pejoice with herbage, while the horrid rage 
Of winter irresistible o'erwhelms 
Th' Hyperborean tracts : his arrowy 3 frosts, 

1 Joseph, Nutt, an eminent apothecary at Hinckley. 

2 A river in Leicestershire. 

3 The Monthly Reviewer praises the epithet " arrowy," as " beautifully 
expressive." The reader will remember the image of the Psalmist which 
may have suggested it. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 55 

Tliat pierce through flinty rocks, the Lappian 

flies ; 
And burrows deep beneath the snowy world ; 
A drear abode, from rose-diffusing hours, 
That dance before the wheels of radiant day, 
Far, far remote ; where, by the squalid light 
Of foetid oil innam'd, sea monster's spume, 
Or fir- wood, glaring in the weeping vault, 
Twice three slow gloomy months, with various 

ills 
Sullen he struggles ; such the love of life ! 
His lank and scanty herds around him press, 
As, hunger-stung, to gritty meal he grinds 
The bones of fish, or inward bark of trees, 
Their common sustenance. While ye, O swains, 
Ye, happy at your ease, behold your sheep 
Feed on the open turf, or crowd the tilth, 
"Where, thick among the greens, with busy mouths 
They scoop white turnips : little care is yours ; 
Only, at morning hour, to interpose 
Dry food of oats, or hay, or brittle straw, 
The wat'ry juices of the bossy root 
Absorbing : or from noxious air to screen 
Your heavy teeming ewes, with wattled fence 
Of furze or copse-wood, hi the lofty field, 
Which bleak ascends among the whistling winds. 
Or, if your sheep are of Silurian breed, 
jNightly to house them dry on fern or straw, 
Silk'ning their fleeces. Ye, nor rolling hut, 
JN"or watchful dog, require ; where never roar 
Of savage tears the air, where careless night 
In balmy sleep lies lull'd, and only wakes 
To plenteous peace. Alas ! o'er warmer zones 
Wild terror strides : their stubborn rocks are rent ; 
Their mountains sink ; then 1 yawning caverns fiame ; 
And fiery torrents roll impetuous down, 
Proud cities deluging ; Pompeian tow'rs, 
And Herculanean, and what riotous stood 
In Syrian valley, where now the Dead Sea 
'jVIong solitary hills infectious lies. 

See the swift furies, Famine, Plague, and War, 
In frequent thunders rage o'er neighb'ring realms, 
And spread their plains with desolation wide : 
Let your mild homesteads, ever-blooming, smile 
Among embracing woods ; and waft on high 
The breath of plenty, from the ruddy tops 
Of chimneys, curling o'er the gloomy trees, 



56 DTEE. 

In airy, azure ringlets, to the sky. 
!Nor ye by need are nrg'd, as Attic swains, 
And Tarentine, with skins to clothe your sheep ; 
Expensive toil ; howe'er expedient found 
In fervid climates, while from Phoebus' beams 
They fled to rugged woods and tangling brakes. 
But those expensive toils are now no more, 
Proud tyranny devours their flocks and herds : 
]N"or bleat of sheep may now, nor sound of pipe, 
Soothe the sweet plains of once sweet Arcady, 
The shepherds' kingdom : dreary solitude 
Spreads o'er Hymettus, and the shaggy vale 
Of Athens, which, in solemn silence, sheds 
Her venerable ruins to the dust. 

The weary Arabs roam from plain to plain, 
Guiding the languid herd in quest of food ; 
And shift their little home's uncertain scene 
With frequent farewell : strangers, pilgrims all, 
As were their fathers. No sweet fall of rain 
May there be heard ; nor sweeter liquid lapse 
Of river, o'er the pebbles gliding by 
In murmurs : goaded by the rage of thirst, 
Daily they journey to the distant clefts 
Of craggy rocks, where gloomy palms o'erhang 
The ancient wells, deep sunk by toil immense, 
Toil of the patriarchs, with sublime intent 
Themselves and long posterity to serve. 
There, at the public hour of sultry noon, 
They share the bev'rage, when to wat'ring come, 
And grateful umbrage, all the tribes around, 
And their lean flocks, whose various bleatings fill 
The echoing caverns : then is absent none, 
Pair nymph or shepherd, each inspiring each 
To wit, and song, and dance, and active feats ; 
In the same rustic scene, where Jacob won 
Fair Rachel's 1 bosom, when a rock's vast weight 
Prom the deep dark-mouth'd well his strength re- 
mo v'cl, 
And to her circling sheep refreshment gave. 

Such are the perils, such the toils of life, 
In foreign climes. But speed thy flight, my 
Muse ; 

1 " And it came to pass, when Jacob saw Kachel, the daughter of Laban, 
his mother's brother, and the sheep of Laban, that Jacob went near, and 
rolled the stone from the well's mouth, and watered the flock of Laban." — 
Gen. zxix. 10. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 57 

Swift turns the year ; and our unnumber'd nocks 
On fleeces overgrown uneasy lie. 

Now, jolly swains, the harvest of your cares 
Prepare to reap, and seek the sounding caves 
Of high Brigantium, 1 where, by ruddy flames, 
Vulcan's strong sons, with nervous arm, around 
The steady anvil and the glaring mass, 
Clatter their heavy hammers down by turns, 
Flattening the steel : from their rough hands receive 
The sharpen'd instrument, that from the nock 
Severs the fleece. If verdant elder spreads 
Her silver flow'rs ; if humble daisies yield 
To yellow crow-foot, and luxuriant grass, 
Gray shearing-time approaches. First, howe'er, 
Drive to the double fold, upon the brim 
Of a clear river, gently drive the flock, 
And plunge them one by one into the flood ; 
Plung'd hi the flood, not long the straggler sinks, 
With his white flakes, that glisten through the tide ; 
The sturdy rustic, in the middle wave, 
Awaits to seize him rising ; one arm bears 
His lifted head above the limpid stream, 
While the full clammy fleece the other laves 
Around, laborious, with repeated toil ; 
And then resigns him to the sunny bank, 
Where, bleating loud, he shakes his dripping locks. 

Shear them the fourth or fifth return of morn, 
Lest touch of busy fly-blows wound their skin : 
Thy peaceful subjects without murmur yield 
Their yearly tribute : 'tis the prudent part 
To cherish and be gentle, while ye strip 
The downy vesture from their tender sides. 
Press not too close ; with caution turn the points ; 
And from the head in reg'lar rounds proceed : 
But speedy, when ye chance to wound, with tar 
Prevent the wingy swarm and scorching heat ; 
And careful house them, if the low'ring clouds 
Mingle their stores tumultuous : through the gloom 
Then thunder oft with pond'rous wheels rolls loud, 
And breaks the crystal urns of heav'n : adown 
Falls streaming rain. Sometimes among the 

steeps 
Of Cambrian glades, (pity the Cambrian glades) 
Fast tumbling brooks on brooks enormous swell, 

1 The forges of Sheffield, in Yorkshire, where the shepherds 5 shears and 
ail edge-toois are made. 



58 DYER. 

And sudden overwhelm their vanish' d fields : 
Down with the flood away the naked sheep, 
Bleating in vain, are borne, and straw-built huts, 
And rifted trees, and heavy, enormous rocks, 
Down with the rapid torrent to the deep. 

At shearing-time, along the lively vales, 
Eural festivities are often heard : 
Beneath each blooming arbour all is joy 
And lusty merriment : while on the grass 
The mingled youth in gaudy circles sport, 
We think the golden age again return'd, 
And all the fabled Dryades in dance. 
Leering they bound along, with laughing air, 
To the shrill pipe, and deep remurm'ring cords 
Of th' ancient harp, or tabor's hollow sound. 

While th' old apart, upon a bank reclin'd, 
Attend the tuneful carol, softly mixt 
With ev'ry murmur of the sliding wave, 
And ev'ry warble of the feather 'd choir ; 
Music of paradise ! which still is heard, 
When the heart listens ; still the views appear 
Of the first happy garden, when Content 
To Nature's flow'ry scenes directs the sight. 
Yet we abandon those Elysian walks, 
Then idly for the lost delight repine : 
As greedy mariners, whose desp'rate sails 
Skim o'er the billows of the foamy flood, 
Fancy they see the less'ning shores retire, 
And sigh a farewell to the sinking hills. 

Could I recall those notes, which once the 
Muse 
Heard at a shearing, near the woody sides 
Of blue-topp'd Wreakin. 1 Yet the carols sweet, 
Through the deep maze of the memorial cell, 
Faintly remurmur. First arose in song 
Hoar-headed Damon, venerable swain, 
The soothest 2 shepherd of the flow'ry vale. 
" This is no vulgar scene : no palace roof 
Was e'er so lofty, nor so nobly rise 
Their polish'd pillars, as these aged oaks, 
Which, o'er our fleecy wealth and harmless sports 
Thus have expanded wide their shelt'ring arms, 

1 AVreakin, a high hill in Shropshire. 

2 So Milton — 

" The soothest shepherd that e'er pip'd on plains." 

—Comus, 823.— W. 



THE TLEECE. 59 

Tlirice told an hundred summers. Sweet Content, 
Ye gentle shepherds, pillows ns at night." 

" Yes, tuneful Damon, for our cares are short, 
Rising and falling with the cheerful day," 
Colin reply'd, " and pleasing weariness 
Soon our unaching heads to sleep inclines. 
Is it in cities so ? where, poets tell, 
The cries of sorrow sadden all the streets, 
And the diseases of intemp'rate wealth. 
Alas, that any ills from wealth should rise ! 

" May the sweet nightingale on yonder spray, 
May this clear stream, these lawns, those snow-white 

lambs, 
Which, with a pretty innocence of look, 
Skip on the green, and race in little troops : 
May that great lamp, which sinks behind the hills, 
And streams around variety of lights, 
Recall them erring : this is Damon's wish. 

" Huge Breaden's 1 stony summit once I climb'd 
After a kidling : Damon, what a scene ! 
What various views unnumber'd spread beneath ! 
Woods, tow'rs, vales, caves, dells, cliffs, and torrent 

floods ; 
And here and there, between the spiry rocks, 
The broad flat sea. Far nobler prospects these, 
Than gardens black with smoke in dusty towns, 
Where stenchy vapours often blot the sun : 
Yet flying from his quiet, thither crowds 
Each greedy wretch for tardy-rising wealth, 
Which comes too late ; that courts the taste in vain, 
Or nauseates with distempers. Yes, ye rich, 
Still, still be rich, if thus ye fashion life ; 
And piping, careless, silly shepherds we, 
We silly shepherds, all intent to feed 
Our snowy flocks,, and wind the sleeky fleece." 

"Deem not, howe'er, our occupation mean," 
Damon replied, ''while the Supreme accounts 
Well of the faithful shepherd, rank'd alike 
With king and priest : they also shepherds are : 
For so th' All-seeino: styles them, to remind 
Elated man, forgetful of his charge." 

" But haste, begin the rites : see purple Eve 
Stretches her shadows : all ye nymphs and swains 
Hither assemble. Pleas 'd with honours clue, 
Sabeixa, guardian of the crystal flood, 

1 Breaden, a Mil on the borders of Montgomeryshire. 



60 DYEK. 

Shall bless our cares, when she by moonlight clear 
Skims o'er the dales, and eyes onr sleeping folds : 
Or in hoar caves, around Plynlymmon's brow, 
Where precious min'rals dart their purple gleams, 
Among her sisters she reclines ; the lov'd 
Yaga, 1 profuse of graces, Byddol rough, 
Blithe Ystwith, and Clevedoc swift of foot ; 
And mingles various seeds of flow'rs, and herbs, 
In the divided torrents, ere they burst 
Through the dark clouds, and down the mountain roll. 
]N~or taint-worm shall infect the yearning herds, 
]^or penny-grass, nor spearwort's poisonous leaf." 

He said : with light fantastic toe, the nymphs 
Thither assembled, thither ev'ry swain ; 
And o'er the dimpled stream a thousand flow'rs, 
Pale lilies, roses, violets, and pinks, 
Mix'd with the greens of burnet, mint, and thyme, 
And trefoil, sprinkled with their sportive arms. 

Such custom holds along th' irriguous vales, 
Prom Wreakin's brow to rocky Dolvoryn, 2 
Sabrina's 3 early haunt, ere yet she fled 
The search of Guendolen, her stepdame proud, 
With envious hate enrag'd. The jolly cheer, 
Spread on a mossy bank, untouch'd abides, 
Till cease the rites : and now the mossy bank 
Is gaily circled, and the jolly cheer 
Dispers'd in copious measure ; early fruits, 
And those of frugal store, in husk or rind ; 
Steep 'd grain, and curdled milk with dulcet cream 
Soft tern per' d, in full merriment they quaff, 
And cast about their gibes ; and some apace 
Whistle to roundelays : their little ones 
Look on delighted ; while the mountain-woods, 
And winding valleys, with the various notes 
Of pipe, sheep, kine, and birds, and liquid brooks, 

i Yaga, Eyddol, Ystwith, and Cleyedoe, rivers, the springs of which rise 
in the sides of Plynlymmon. 

2 Dolvoryn, a ruinous castle in Montgomeryshire, on the banks of the 
Severn. 

3 <■<■ There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, 

That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream, 

Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; 

YVhilome she was the daughter of Locrine, 

That had the sceptre from his father Brute. 

She guiltless damsel flying the mad pursuit 

Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 

Commended her fair innocence to the flood, 

That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course." 

Comus, 832 .— W. 



THE FLEECE. 61 

Unite their echoes : near at hand, the wide 
Majestic wave of Severn slowly rolls 
Along the deep-divided glebe : the flood, 
And trading bark with low contracted sail, 
Linger among the reeds and copsy banks 
To listen ; and to view the joyous scene. 



BOOK II. 



ARGUMENT, 



Introduction — Recommendation of mercifulness to animals — Of the 
winding of wool — Diversity of wool in the fleece ; skill in the 
assorting of it, particularly among the Dutch — The uses of each 
sort — Severe winters pernicious to the fleece — Directions to 
prevent their effects — Wool lightest in common fields ; incon- 
veniences of common fields — Vulgar errors concerning the wool of 
England ; its real excellencies, and directions in the choice — No 
good wool in cold or wet pastures ; yet all pastures improveahle ; 
exemplified in the drainage of Bedford Level — Britain in ancient 
times not esteemed for wool — Countries esteemed for wool before 
the Argonautic expedition — Of that expedition, and its con- 
sequences — Countries afterwards esteemed for wool — The decay 
of arts and sciences in the barbarous ages ; their revival, first at 
Venice — Countries noted for wool in the present times — Wool the 
best of all the various materials for clothing — The wool of our 
island, peculiarly excellent, is the combing wool — Methods to 
prevent its exportation — Apology of the author for treating this 
subject — Bishop Blaise, the inventor of wool-combing — Of the 
dyeing of wool — Few dyes the natural product of England — 
Necessity of trade for importing them — The advantages of trade, 
and its utility in the moral world ; exemplified in the prosperity 
and ruin of the elder Tyre. 

Now, of the sever'd lock begin the song, 
With various numbers, through the simple theme 
To win attention : this, ye shepherd swains, 
This is a labour. Yet, O Wray, 1 if thou 
Cease not with skilful hand to point her way, 
The lark-wing'd Muse, above the grassy vale, 
And hills, and woods, shall, singing, soar aloft ; 
And he, whom learning, wisdom, candour, grace, 

i The original reading was different : — 

— Yet, if thou indulge, 
Rose-lipped Hygeia ! from the grassy rale 
The lark-winged Muse shall raise her airy flight, 
And deck the Fleece where golden Aries shines. — W. 



62 DYER. 

Who glows with, all the virtues of his sire, 
Ivoyston 1 approve, and patronize the strain. 

Through all the brnte creation, none, as sheep, 
To lordly man such ample tribute pay. 
For him their udders yield nectareous streams : 
For him their downy vestures they resign ; 
For him they spread the feast : ah ! ne'er may he 
Glory in wants, which doom to pain and death 
His blameless fellow- creatures. Let disease, 
Let wasted hunger, by destroying live ; 
And the permission use with trembling thanks, 
Meekly reluctant : 'tis the brute beyond : 
And gluttons ever murder, when they kill. 
Ev'n to the reptile ev'ry cruel deed 
Is high impiety. Howe'er, not all, 
Not of the sanguinary tribe are all ; 
All are not savage. Come, ye gentle swains, 
Like Bkama's healthy sons on Indus' banks, 
Whom the pure stream and garden fruits sustain, 
Ye are the sons of Nature ; your mild hands 
Are innocent : ye, when ye shear, relieve. 
Come, gentle swains, the bright unsullied locks 
Collect : alternate songs shall soothe your cares, 
And warbling music break from ev'ry spray. 
Be faithful ; and the genuine locks alone 
Wrap round : nor alien flake, nor pitch enfold : 
Stain not your stores with base desire to add 
Fallacious weight : nor yet, to mimic those, 
Minute and light, of sandy IJrchinfield, 2 
Lessen, with subtle artifice, the fleece : 
Equal the fraud. Nor interpose delay, 
Lest busy sether through the open wool 
Debilitating pass, and ev'ry film 
Ruffle and sully with the valley's dust. 
Guard, too, from moisture, and the fretting moth 
Pernicious : she, in gloomy shade conceal'd, 
Her lab'rinth cuts, and mocks the comber's care. 
But in loose locks of fells she most delights, 
And feeble fleeces of distemper'd sheep, 
Whither she hastens, by the morbid scent 
Allur'd ; as the swift eagle to the fields 
Of slaught'ring war, or carnage : such apart 
Keep for their proper use. Our ancestors 
Selected such, for hospitable beds 

1 Afterwards the second Earl of Hardwicke. — "W. 
2 Urchinneld, the country about Eoss in Herefordshire. 




Kises, full-oib'd, the silver harvest-moon, 
To light th' unwearied farmer, late afield. — P. 63 



THE FLEECE. 63 

To rest the stranger, or the gory chief, 
Prom battle, or the chase of wolves, return'd. 

When many-colour'd ev'ning sinks behind 
The purple woods and hills, and opposite 
Rises, full-orb'd, the silver harvest-moon, 
To light th' unwearied farmer, late afield 
His scatter'd sheaves collecting ; then expect 
The artists, bent on speed, from pop'lous Leeds, 
Norwich, or Froome ; they traverse ev'ry plain, 
And ev'ry dale, where farm or cottage smokes : 
Reject them not ; and let the season's price 
Win thy soft treasures : let the bulky wain 
Through dusty roads roll nodding ; or the bark, 
That silently adown the cerule stream 
Glides with white sails, dispense the downy freight 
To copsy villages on either side, 
And spiry towns, where ready diligence, 
The grateful burden to receive, awaits, 
Like strong Briareus, with his hundred hands. 

In the same fleece diversity of wool 
Grows intermingled, and excites the care 
Of curious skill to sort the sev'ral kinds. 
But in this subtle science none exceed 
1 Th' industrious Belgians, to the work who guide 
Each feeble hand of want : their spacious domes 
With boundless hospitality receive 
Each nation's outcasts : there the tender eye 
May view the maim'd, the blind, the lame, employ'd, 
And unrejected age ; ev'n childhood there 
Its little fingers turning to the toil 
Delighted ; nimbly, with habitual speed, 
They sever lock from lock, and long, and short, 
And soft, and rigid, pile in sev'ral heaps. 

1 The original note was — By this means scarce a beggar in Holland. 
That no nation may underwork them, they take care to keep all materials 
for manufactures as low as possible, and tax necessaries. 

For every passion through its proper duct 

Euns useful on; and thus the burgher's door, 

His folds, and walls, are safe ; and every vale, 

Its flowers, and fruits, and shades, and arbours green, 

Increasing, grows an earthly paradise. 

And again, — 

— by this and other means, 
Seldom the eye in Belgia can detect 
The vagrant beggar : and lest neighbouring realms 
Should work with cheaper industry, they give 
Materials free and copious to the hand 
Of labour's hardy sons, and only lay 
On needs of life the burdens of the state. — W. 



64 DYER. 

This the dusk hatter asks ; another shines, 

Tempting the clothier ; that the hosier seeks ; 

The long bright lock is apt for airy stuffs ; 

But often it deceives the artist's care, 

Breaking unuseful in the steely comb ; 

For this long spongy wool no more increase 

Receives, while Winter petrifies the fields ; 

The growth of Autumn stops ; and what though Spring 

Succeeds with rosy finger, and spins on 

The texture ? yet in vain she strives to link 

The silver twine to that of Autumn's hand. 

Be then the swain advis'd to shield his flocks 

From Winter's dead'ning frosts and whelming snows : 

Let the loud tempest rattle on the roof, 

While they, secure within, warm cribs enjoy, 

And swell their fleeces, equal to the worth 

Of cloth'd Apulian, 1 by soft warmth improv'd : 

Or let them inward heat and vigour find, 

By food of cole or turnip, hardy plants. 

Besides, the lock of one continued growth 

Imbibes a clearer and more equal dye. 

But lightest wool is theirs, who poorly toil, 
Through a dull round, in unimproving farms 
Of common-fields : inclose, inclose, ye swains ; 
Why will you joy in common-field, where pitch, 
Noxious to wool, must stain your motley flock, 
To mark your property ? The mark dilates, 
Enters the flake depreciated, defil'd, 
Unfit for beauteous tint : besides, in fields 
Promiscuous held, all culture languishes ; 
The glebe, exhausted, thin supply receives ; 
Dull waters rest upon the rushy flats 
And barren furrows : none the rising grove 
There plants for late posterity, nor hedge 
To shield the flock, nor copse for cheering fire ; 
And, in the distant village, ev'ry hearth 
Devours the grassy sward, the verdant food 
Of injur'd herds and flocks, or what the plough 
Should turn and moulder for the bearded grain : 
Pernicious habit, drawing gradual on 
Increasing beggary and nature's frowns. 
Add too, the idle pilf 'rer easier there 
Eludes detection, when a lamb or ewe 
Erom intermingled flocks he steals ; or when, 

i The shepherds of Apulia, Tarentum, and Attica, used to clothe their 
sheep with skins, to preserve and improve their fleeces. 



THE FLEECE. 65 

With loosened tether of his horse or cow. 
The milky stalk of the tall green-ear'd corn, 
The year's slovr-rip'ning fruit, the anxious hope 
Of his laborious neighbour he destroys. 

There are, who over-rate our spongy stores, 
Who deem that nature grants no clime but ours, 
To spread upon its fields the dews of heaven, 
And feed the silky fleece ; that card, nor comb, 
The hairy wool of Gaul can e'er subdue, 
To form the thread, and mingle in the loom, 
Unless a third from Britain swell the heap : 
Illusion all : though of our sun and air 
Not trivial is the virtue : nor their fruit, 
Upon our snowy flocks, of small esteem ; 
The grain of brightest tincture none so well 
Imbibes : the wealthy G-obelins must to this 
Bear witness, and the costliest of their looms. 

And though, with hue of crocus or of rose, 
"No pow'r of subtle food, or air, or soil, 
Can dye the living fleece ; yet 'twill avail 
To note their influence in the tinging vase. 
Therefore from herbage of old-pastur'd plains, 
Chief from the matted turf of azure marie, 
Where grow the whitest locks, collect thy stores. 
Those fields regard not, through whose recent turf 
The miry soil appears : not ev'n the streams 
Of Yare, or silver Stroud, can purify 
Their frequent- sully 'd fleece ; nor what rough winds, 
Keen-biting on tempestuous hills, imbrown. 

Yet much may be perform 'd, to check the force 
Of nature's rigor : the high heath, by trees 
Warm-shelter'd, may despise the rage of storms : 
Moors, bogs, and weeping fens, may learn to smile, 
And leave in dykes their soon-forgotten tears. 
Labour and art will ev'ry aim achieve 
Of noble bosoms. Bedford Level, 1 erst 
A dreary pathless waste, the coughing flock 
Was wont with hairy fleeces to deform ; 
And, smiling with her lure of summer fiow'rs, 
The heavy ox, vain-struggling, to ingulph ; 
Till one, of that high-honour'd patriot name, 
Hussel, arose, who drain 'd the rushy fen, 
Confin'd the waves, bid groves and gardens bloom, 
And through his new creation led the Ouze, 
And gentle Camus, silver-winding streams : 

] Bedford Level in Cambridgeshire. 

z 2 



66 DTEE. 

Godlike beneficence : from chaos drear 
To raise the garden and the shady grove. 

But see Ierne's moors and hideous bogs, 
Immeasurable tract. The traveller 
Slow tries his mazy step on th' yielding tuft, 
Shudd'ring with fear : Ev'n such perfidious wilds, 
By labour won, have yielded to the comb 
The fairest length of wool. See Deeping fens, 
And the long lawns of Bourn. l 'Tis Art and Toil 
Gives Mature value, multiplies her stores, 
Varies, improves, creates : 'tis Art and Toil 
Teaches her woody hills with fruits to shine, 
The pear and tasteful apple : decks with flow'rs 
And foodful pulse the fields, that often rise, 
Admiring to behold their furrows wave 
With yellow corn. What changes cannot Toil, 
With patient Art, effect ? There was a time, 
When other regions were the swain's delight, 
And shepherdless Britannia's rushy vales, 
Inglorious, neither trade nor labour knew, 
But of rude baskets, homely rustic gear, 
Wov'n of the flexile willow ; till, at length, 
The plains of Sarum open'd to the hand 
Of patient culture, and, o'er sinking woods, 
High Cotswold show'd her summits. Urchinfield, 
And Lemster's crofts, beneath the pheasant's brake, 
Long lay unnoted. Toil new pasture gives ; 
And, in the regions oft of active Gaul, 
O'er lessening vineyards spread the growing turf. 

In eldest times, when kings and hardy chiefs 
In bleating sheepfolds met, for purest wool 
Phoenicia's hilly tracts were most renown'd, 
And fertile Syria's and Judaea's land, 
Hermon, and Seir, and Hebron's brooky sides ; 
Twice with the murex, crimson hue, they ting'd 2 
The shining fleeces : hence their gorgeous wealth ; 
And hence arose the walls of ancient Tyre. 

Next busy Colchis, bless'd with frequent rains, 3 
And lively verdure (who the lucid stream 
Of Phasis boasted, and a portly race 
Of fair inhabitants) improv'd the fleece ; 
When, o'er the deep by flying Phryxus brought, 
The fam'd Thessahan ram enrich'd her plains. 

1 In Lincolnshire. 
2 With the rich grain of Sarra twice they tinged. — MS. 
3 — bright with pearly rain. — MS. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 67 

This rising Greece with, indignation view'd, 
And youthful Jason an attempt coneeiv'd 
Lofty and bold: along Peneus' banks, 
Around Olympus' brows, the Muses' haunts, 
He rous'd the brave to redemand the fleece. 
Attend, ye British swains, the ancient song. 
From ev'ry region of iEgea's shore 
The brave assembled ; those illustrious twins, 
Castor and Pollux ; Orpheus, tuneful bard ; 
Zetes and Calais, as the wind in speed ; 
Strong Hercules ; and many a chief renown' d. 

On deep Iolcos' sandy shore they throng'd, 
Gleaming in armour, ardent of exploits ; 
And soon, the laurel cord and che huge stone 
Up-lifting to the deck, unmoor'd the bark ; 
Whose keel, of wondrous length, the skilful hand 
Of Argus fashion'd for the proud attempt ; 
And in th' extended keel a lofty mast 
Up-rais'd, and sails full-swelling ; to the chiefs 
Unwonted objects : now, first now they learn'd 
Their bolder steerage over ocean wave, 
Led by the golden stars, as Chiron's art 
Had mark'd the sphere celestial. Wide abroad 
Expands the purple deep ; the cloudy isles, 
Scyros, and Scopelos, and Icos, rise, 
And Halonesos : soon huge Lemnos heaves 
Her azure head above the level brine, 
Shakes off her mists, and brightens all her cliffs : 
While they, her natt'ring creeks and op'ning bow'rs 
Cautious approaching, in Myrina's port 
Cast out the cabled stone upon the strand. 
Next to the Mysian shore they shape their course, 
But with too eager haste : in the white foam 
His oar Alcides breaks ; howe'er, not long 
The chance detains ; he springs upon the shore, 
And, rifting from the roots a tap 'ring pine, 
Renews his stroke. Between the threat'ning tow'rs 
Of Hellespont they ply the rugged surge, 
To Hero's and Leander's ardent love 
Fatal : then smooth Propontis' wid'ning wave, 
That like a glassy lake expands, with hills, 
Hills above hills, and gloomy woods, begirt. 
And now the Thracian Bosphorus they dare, 
Till the Symplegades, tremendous rocks, 1 

1 Dyer remembered the description, by Apollonius Rhodius, in the 
Second Book of the " Argonautics." 



68 DYER. 

Threaten approach ; but they, unterrified, 

Through the sharp-pointed cliffs and thund'ring floods 

Cleave their bold passage : nathless by the crags 

And torrents sorely shatter' d : as the strong 

Eagle or vulture, in th' entangling net 

Involv'd, breaks through, yet leaves his plumes behind. 

Thus, through the wide waves, their slow way they 

force 
To Thynia's hospitable isle. The brave 
Pass many perils, and to fame by such 
Experience rise. Refresh'd, again they speed 
Erom cape to cape, and view unnumber'd streams, 
Halys, with hoary Lycus, and the mouths 
Of Asparus and Glaucus, rolling swift 
To the broad deep their tributary waves ; 
Till in the long- sought harbour they arrive 
Of golden Phasis. Foremost on the strand 
Jason advanc'd : the deep capacious bay, 
The crumbling terrace of the marble port, 
"Wond'ring he view'd, and stately palace-domes, 1 
Pavilions proud of luxury : around, 
In ev'ry glitt'ring hall, within, without, 
O'er all the timbrel-sounding squares and streets, 
Nothing appear'd but luxury, and crowds 
Sunk in deep riot. To the public weal 
Attentive none he found : for he, their chief 
Of shepherds, proud 2Eetes, by the name 
Sometimes of king distinguish'd, 'gan to slight 
The shepherd's trade, and turn to song and dance : 
Ev'n Hydeus ceas'd to watch ; Medea's songs 
Of joy, and rosy youth, and beauty's charms, 
With magic sweetness lull'd his cares asleep, 
Till the bold heroes grasp'd the golden fleece. 
Nimbly they wing'd the bark, surrounded soon 
By Neptune's friendly waves : secure they speed 
O'er the known seas, by ev'ry guiding cape, 
With prosperous return. The myrtle shores, 
And glassy mirror of Iolcos' lake, 
With loud acclaim receiv'd them. Ev'ry vale, 
And ev'ry hillock, touch'd the tuneful stops 
Of pipes unnumber'd, for the ram regain'd. 

Thus Phasis lost his pride : his slighted nymphs 
Along the withering dales and pastures mourn'd ; 

1 — The stately palace-domes, 
Chambers and halls superb of silver sheen, 
With golden architrave and sculpture bossed, 
Pavilions proud, &c— MS.— W. 



THE FLEECE. 69 

The trade-sliip left his streams ; tlie merchant shunn'd 
His desert borders : each ingenious Art, 
Trade, Liberty, and Affluence, all retir'd, 
And left to Want and Servitude their seats ; 
Yile successors ! and gloomy Ignorance 
Following, like dreary night, whose sable hand 
Hangs on the purple skirts of flying Day. 

Sithence the fleeces of Arcadian plains, 
And Attic, and Thessalian, bore esteem ; 
And those in Grecian colonies dispers'd, 
Caria and Doris, and Ionia's coast, 
And fam'd Tarentum, where Galesus' tide, 
Rolling by ruins hoar of ancient towns, 
Through solitary valleys seeks the sea. 
Or green Altinum, by an hundred Alps 
High-crown'd, whose woods and snowy peaks aloft 
Shield her low plains from the rough northern blast. 
Those, too, of Boetica's delicious fields, 
With golden fruitage bless' d of highest taste, 
What need I name ? The Turdetanian tract, 
Or rich Coraxus, whose wide looms unroll'd 
The finest webs ? where scarce a talent weigh'd 
A ram's equivalent. Then only tin 
To late-improv'd Britannia gave renown. 

Lo, the revolving course of mighty Time, 
Who loftiness abases, tumbles down 
Olympus' brow, and lifts the lowly vale. 
Where is the majesty of ancient Rome, 
The throng of heroes in her splendid streets, 
The snowy vest or peace, or purple robe, 
Slow trail' d triumphal ? Where the Attic fleece, 
And Tarentine, in warmest litter'd cotes, 
Or sunny meadows, cloth'd with costly care ? 
All in the solitude of ruin lost, 
War's horrid carnage, vain ambition's dust. 

Long lay the mournful realms of elder fame 
In gloomy desolation, ti]l appear'd 
Beauteous Venetia, first of all the nymphs, 
Who from the melancholy waste emerg'd : 
In Adria's gulph her clotted locks she lav'd, 
And rose another Yenus : each soft joy, 
Each aid of life, her busy wit restor'd ; 
Science reviv'd, with all the lovely arts, 
And all the graces. Restituted trade 1 
To ev'ry virtue lent his helping stores, 

1 He had formerly, and in better taste, written ' ' recovered trade." — W. 



70 DTEE. 

And clear'd the vales around ; again the pipe, 
And bleating flocks, awak'd the echoing lawns. 

The glossy fleeces now of prime esteem 
Soft Asia boasts, where lovely Cassimere, 
Within a lofty mound of circling hills, 
Spreads her delicious stores; woods, rocks, caves, lakes, 
Hills, lawns, and winding streams ; a region term'd 
The paradise of Indus. Next, the plains 
Of Labor, by that arbour stretch' d immense, 
Through many a realm, to Agra, the proud throne 
Of India's worshipped prince, whose lust is law : 
Remote dominions ; nor to ancient fame 
]N"or modern known, till public-hearted Roe, 1 
Faithful, sagacious, active, patient, brave, 
Led to their distant climes advent 'rous Trade. 

Add too the silky wool of Libyan lands, 
Of Caza's bow'ry dales, and brooky Cans, 
Where lofty Atlas spreads his verdant feet, 
While in the clouds his hoary shoulders bend. 
Next proud Iberia glories in the growth 
Of high Castile, and mild Segovian glades. 

And beauteous Albion, since great Edgar chas'd 
The prowling wolf, with many a lock appears 
Of silky lustre ; chief, Siluria, thine ; 
Thine, Vaga, favour' d stream • from sheep minute 
On Cambria bred : a pound o'erweighs a fleece. 
Gray Epsom's too, and Banstead's, and what gleams 
On Yecta's isle, that shelters Albion's fleet, 
With all its thunders : 2 or Salopian stores, 
Those which are gather'd in the fields of Clun : 
High Cotswold also 'mong the shepherd swains 
Is oft remembered, though the greedy plough 
Preys on its carpet : He, whose rustic Muse 
O'er heath and craggy holt her wing display 'd, 
And sung the bosky bourns of Alfred's shires, 
Has favour'd Cotswold with luxuriant praise. 3 

1 Sir Thomas Eoe, Ambassador to the Great Mogul, in 1614. — "W. 

2 — That shroud Britannia's fleet, 
And sleeping thunders. — MS. — W. 

3 Drayton, in his Poly-Olbion: — 

But, noble Muse, proceed immediately to tell 
How Eusham's fertile vale at first in liking fell 
With Cotswold, that great king of shepherds; whose proud site, 
When that proud vale first saw, so nourished her delight, 
That him she only lord ; for wisely she beheld 
The beauties clean throughout that on his surface dwell' d : 
Of just and equal height, two banks arising, which 
Grew poor (as it should seem) to make some valley rich : 



THE ELEECE. 71 

]N"eed we the levels green of Lincoln note, 

Or rich Lsicestria's early plains, for length 

Of whitest locks and magnitude of fleece 

Peculiar ; envy of the neighb'ring realms ? 

But why recount our grassy lawns alone, 

While ev'n the tillage of our cultur'd plains, 

With bossy turnip, and luxuriant cole, 

Learns through the circling year their flocks to feed. 

Ingenious Trade, to clothe the naked world, 
Her soft materials, not from sheep alone, 
Prom various animals, reeds, trees, and stones, 
Collects sagacious : in Euboea's isle 
A wond'rous rock 1 is found, of which are wov'n 
Yests incombustible : Batavia, flax; 
Siam's warm marish yields the fissile cane ; 
Soft Persia, silk ; Balasor's 2 shady hills 
Tough bark of trees ; Peruvian Pito, grass ; 
And ev'ry sultry clime the snowy down 
Of cotton, bursting from its stubborn shell 
To gleam amid the verdure of the grove. 
With glossy hair of Tibet's shaggy goat 
Are light tiaras vrov'n, that wreathe the head, 
And airy float behind : the beaver's flix 
Gives kindliest warmth to weak enervate limbs, 
When the pale blood slow rises through the veins. 
Still shall o'er all prevail the shepherd's stores, 
Por num'rous uses known : none yield such warmth, 
Such beauteous hues receive, so long endure ; 
So pliant to the loom, so various, none. 

Wild rove the flocks, no burdening fleece they bear 
In fervid climes : nature gives nought in vain. 
Carmenian wool on the broad tail alone 
[Resplendent swells, enormous in its growth : 
As the sleek ram from green to green removes, 
On aiding wheels his heavy pride he draws, 
And glad resigns it for the hatter's use. 
Ev'n in the new Columbian world appears 
The woolly covering : Apacheria's glades, 
And Canses, 3 echo to the pipes and flocks 

Betwixt them thrusting out an elbow of such height, 
As shrouds the lower soil; which, shadowed from the light, 
Shoots forth a little grove, that in the summer's day 
Invites the flocks for shade that to the covert stray. 

The Fourteenth So?ig. — W. 
1 The Asbestos. 
2 Balasore, in Hindoostan. 
3 Apacheria and Canses, provinces in Louisiana, on the western side of the 
Mississippi. 



72 DTEE. 

Of foreign swains. While time shakes down his 

sands, 
And works continual change, be none secure : 
Quicken your labours, brace your slack'ning nerves, 
Ye Britons ; nor sleep careless on the lap 
Of bounteous nature ; she is elsewhere kind. 
See Mississippi lengthen on her lawns, 
Propitious to the shepherds : see the sheep 1 
Of fertile Arica, 2 like camels form'd ; 
Which bear huge burdens to the sea-beat shore, 
And shine with fleeces soft as feathery down. 

Coarse Bothnic locks are not devoid of use ; 
They clothe the mountain carl, or mariner 
Lab'ring at the wet shrouds, or stubborn helm, 
While the loud billows dash the groaning deck. 
All may not Stroud's or Taunton's vestures wear : 
Nor what, from fleece Hatsean, 3 mimic flow'rs 
Of rich Damascus : many a texture bright 
Of that material in Prsetorium 4 wov'n, 
Or in Korvicum, cheats the curious eye. 

If any wool peculiar to our isle 
Is giv'n by nature, 'tis the comber's lock, 
The soft, the snow-white, and the long-grown flake. 
Hither be turn'd the public's wakeful eye, 
This golden fleece to guard, with strictest watch, 
From the dark hand of pilf ring Avarice, 
Who, like a spectre, haunts the midnight hour, 
When Nature wide around him lies supine 
And silent, in the tangles soft involv'd 
Of death-like sleep : he then the moment marks, 
While the pale moon illumes the trembling tide, 
Speedy to lift the canvas, bend the oar, 
And waft his thefts to the perfidious foe. 

Happy the patriot, who can teach the means 
To check his frauds, and yet untroubled leave 
Trade's open channels. Would a gen'rous aid 
To honest toil, in Cambria's hilly tracts, 
Or where the Lune 5 or Coker wind their streams, 
Be found sufficient ? Far, their airy fields, 
Far from infectious luxury arise. 
O might their mazy dales, and mountain sides, 
With copious fleeces of lerne shine, 
And gulphy Caledonia, wisely bent 

1 These sheep are called Guanapas. 2 Arica, a province of Peru. 
3 Ratsean fleeces, the fleeces of Leicestershire. 4 Coventry. 
5 Lime, a river in Cumberland. Coker, a river in Lancashire. 



THE ELEECE. 73 

On wealthy fisheries and flaxen webs ; 

Then would the sister realms, amid their seas, 

Like the three Graces in harmonious fold, 

By mutual aid enhance their various charms, 

And bless remotest climes — To this lov'd end 

Awake, Benevolence ; to this lov'd end, 

Strain all thy nerves, and ev'ry thought explore. 

Far, far away, whose passions would immure, 

In your own little hearts, the joys of life ; 

(Ye worms of pride) for your repast alone, 

Who claim all Nature's stores, woods, waters, 

meads, 
All her profusion ; whose vile hands would grasp 
The peasant's scantling, the weak widow's mite, 
And in the sepulchre of Self entomb 
Whate'er ye can, whate'er ye cannot use. 
Know, for superior ends th' Almighty Power 
(The Power, whose tender arms embrace the worm) 
Breathes o'er the foodful earth the breath of life, 
And forms us manifold ; allots to each 
His fair peculiar ; wisdom, wit, and strength ; 
Wisdom, and wit, and strength, in sweet accord, 
To aid, to cheer, to counsel, to protect, 
And twist the mighty bond. Thus feeble man, 
With man united, is a nation strong ; 
Builds tow'ry cities, satiates ev'ry want, 
And makes the seas profound, and forests wild, 
The gardens of his joys. Man, each man's born 
For the high business of the public good. 1 

For me, 'tis mine to pray, that men regard 
Their occupation with an honest heart, 
And cheerful diligence : like the useful bee, 
To gather for the hive not sweets alone, 
But wax, and each material ; pleas'd to find 
Whate'er may soothe distress, and raise the fall'n, 
In life's rough race : O be it as my wish ! 
'Tis mine to teach th' inactive hand to reap 
Kind Nature's bounties, o'er the globe diffus'd. 

For this I wake the weary hours of rest ; 
With this desire, the merchant I attend ; 
By this impell'd, the shepherd's hut I seek, 
Aid, as he tends his flock, his lectures hear 

1 Dyer writes in one of his sermons : — " Eeligion, in the notion of it, is 
briefly an obligation upon man to render unto their Creator worship and 
obedience in the practice of virtue, under an expectation of a righteous judg- 
ment to come ; religion, in the end of it, is, briefly, the exercise of gratitude 
to our G-od, and of charity to our brother." — W. 



74 DYER. 

Attentive, pleas 'd with pure simplicity, 
And rules divulg'd beneficent to sheep : 
Or turn the compass o'er the painted chart, 
To mark the ways of traffic ; Volga's stream, 
Cold Hudson's cloudy straits, warm Afric's cape, 
Latium's firm roads, the Ptolemean fosse, 
And China's long canals. These noble works, 
These high effects of civilizing trade, 
Employ me, sedulous of public weal : x 
Yet not unmindful of my sacred charge ; 
Thus also mindful, thus devising good, 
At vacant seasons, oft ; when ev'ning mild 
Purples the valleys, and the shepherd counts 
His flock, returning to the quiet fold, 
With dumb complacence : for Keligion, this, 
To give our ev'ry comfort to distress, 
And follow virtue with an humble mind ; 
This pure religion. Thus, in elder time, 
The rev'rend Blasitjs 2 wore his leisure hours, 
And slumbers, broken oft : Till, fill'd 3 at length 
With inspiration, after various thought, 
And trials manifold, his well-known voice 
Gather'd the poor, and o'er Vulcanian stoves, 
With tepid lees of oil, and spiky comb, 
Shew'd how the fleece might stretch to greater length, 
And cast a glossier whiteness. Wheels went round ; 
Matrons and maids with songs reliev'd their toils ; 
And ev'ry loom receiv'd the softer yarn. 
What poor, what widow, Blasius, did not bless, 
Thy teaching hand ? thy bosom, like the morn, 
Op'ning its wealth ? What nation did not seek, 
Of thy new-modell'd wool, the curious webs ? 
Hence the glad cities of the loom his name 
Honour with yearly festals : through their streets 
The pomp, with tuneful sounds, and order just, 
Denoting labour's happy progress moves, 
Procession slow and solemn : first the rout ; 
Then servient youth, and magisterial eld ; 

1 And in the MSS. he writes : — " I am not for calling men away from the 
bustle of life, but for guiding them in it. It is not meditation, or prayer, or 
praise, or assembling at church, or mere belief, or almsgiving, or charity it- 
self, or even all these together, that can comprehend the whole of Eeligion. 
'Religion includes everything but vice ; for everything but vice promotes the hap- 
piness of society and the good of mankind." — Meditations, 1729. — "W. 

2 A bishop, who invented wool-combing, and perished under the persecu- 
tion of Dioclesian. — W. 

3 The first, and the better, reading was : — 

E'en through his slumbers drew the golden beams 
Of 3weet benevolence ; till, filled at length. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 75 

Each after each, according to his rank, 

His sway, and office, in the commonweal ; 

And to the board of smiling Plenty's stores 

Assemble, where delicious cates and fruits 

Of ev'ry clime are pil'd ; and with free hand, 

Toil only tastes the feast, by nerveless Ease 

Unrelish'd. Yarions mirth and song resound ; 

And oft they interpose improving talk, 

Divulging each to other knowledge rare, 

Sparks from experience that sometimes arise 

Till night weighs down the sense, or morning's dawn 

Houses to labour, man to labour born. 

Then the sleek bright'ning lock, from hand to hand, 
Renews its circling course : this feels the card ; 
That, in the comb, admires its growing length ; 
This, blanch'd, emerges from the oily wave ; 
And that, the amber tint, or ruby, drinks. 

Eor it suffices not, in flow'ry vales, 
Only to tend the flock, and shear soft wool : 
Gums must be stor'd of Guinea's arid coast ; 
Mexican woods, and India's bright'ning salts ; 
Fruits, herbage, sulphurs, minerals, to stain 
The fleece prepar'd, which oil-imbibing earth 
Of Wooburn blanches, and keen alum- waves 
Intenerate. With curious eye observe, 
In what variety the tribe of salts, 
Gums, ores, and liquors, eye -delighting hues 
Produce, abstersive or restringent ; how 
Steel casts the sable : how pale pewter, fus'd 
In fluid spirituous, the scarlet dye : 
And how each tint is made, or mixt, or chang'd, 
By mediums colourless : why is the fume 
Of sulphur kind to white and azure hues, 
Pernicious else : why no materials yield 
Singly their colours, those except that shine 
With topaz, sapphire, and cornelian rays : 
And why, though Nature's face is cloth'd in green, 
No green is found to beautify the fleece, 
But what repeated toil by mixture gives. 

To find effects, while causes lie conceal'd, 
Reason uncertain tries : howe'er, kind chance 
Oft with equivalent discov'ry pays 
Its wand'ring efforts ; thus the German sage, 
Diligent Dkeebel, 1 o'er alchymic fire, 
Seeking the secret source of gold, receiv'd 

i Cornelius Drebbel, who was patronized by James I., died in London 
1634— W. 



76 DYEE. 

Of alter'd cochineal the crimson store. 
Tyrian Melcaktus ! thus (the first who brought 
Tin's useful ore from Albion's distant isle, 
And, for unwearied toils and arts, the name 
Of Heecules acquir'd), when o'er the mouth 
Of his attendant sheep-dog he beheld 
The wounded murex strike a purple stain, 
The purple stain on fleecy woofs he spread, 
Which lur'd the eye, adorning many a nymph, 
And drew the pomp of trade to rising Tyre. 

Our valleys yield not, or but sparing yield, 
The dyer's gay materials. Only weld, 
Or root of madder, here, or purple woad, 
By which our naked ancestors obscur'd 
Their hardy limbs, inwrought with mystic forms, 
Like Egypt's obelisks. The pow'rful sun 
Hot India's zone with gaudy pencil paints, 
And drops delicious tints o'er hill and dale, 
Which Trade to us conveys. Not tints alone ; 
Trade to the good physician gives his balms ; 
Gives cheering cordials to th' afflicted heart ; 
Gives, to the wealthy, delicacies high ; 
Gives, to the curious, works of nature rare : 
And when the priest displays, in just discourse, 
Him, the all-wise Ceeatoe, and declares 
His presence, pow'r, and goodness, unconfin'd, 
'Tis Trade, attentive voyager, who fills 
His lips with argument. To censure Trade, 
Or hold her busy people in contempt, 
Let none presume. The dignity and grace, 
And weal, of human life, their fountains owe 
To seeming imperfections, to vain wants, 
Or real exigencies ; passions swift 
Forerunning reason ; strong contrarious bents, 
The steps of men dispersing wide abroad 
O'er realms and seas. There, in the solemn scene, 
Infinite wonders glare before their eyes, 
Humiliating the mind enlarg'd ; for they 
The clearest sense of Deity receive, 
Who view the widest prospect of his works, 
Hanging the globe with Trade thro' various climes : 
Who see the signatures of boundless love, 
!Nor less the judgments of Almighty Pow'r, 
That warn the wicked, and the wretch who 'scapes 
[From human justice : who, astonish'd view 

1 Thus chance-inform' d Melcartus.— MS.-— W. 



THE FLEECE. 77 

Etna's loud thunders and tempestuous fires ; 

The dust of Carthage ; desert shores of Nile ; 

Or Tyre's abandon'd summit, crown'd of old 

With stately tow'rs ; whose merchants, from their isle3, 

And radiant thrones, assembled in her marts ; 

Whither Arabia, whither Kedar, brought 

Their shaggy goats, their flocks and bleating lambs ; 

Where rich Damascus pil'd his fleeces white, 

Prepar'd, and thirsty for the double tint, 

And flow'ring shuttle. While th' admiring world 

Crowded her streets ; ah ! then the hand of Pride 

Sow'd imperceptible his pois'nous weed, 

Which crept destructive up her lofty domes, 

As ivy creeps around the graceful trunk 

Of some tall oak. Her lofty domes no more, 

]N~ot ev'n the ruins of her pomp, remain ; 

JSTot ev'n the dust they sunk in ; by the breath 

Of the Omnipotent, offended, hurl'd 

Down to the bottom of the stormy deep : 

Only the solitary rock remains, 

Her ancient site ; a monument to those, 

Who toil and wealth exchange for sloth and pride. l 



BOOK III. 

ARGUMENT. 



Introduction — Recommendation of labour — The several methods of 
spinning — Description of the loom, and of weaving — Variety of 
looms — The fulling-mill described, and the progress of the manu- 
facture — Dyeing of cloth, and the excellence of the French in 
that art — Frequent negligence of our artificers — The ill conse- 
quences of idleness — Country workhouses proposed; with a 
description of one — Gfood effects of industry exemplified in the 
prospect of Burstal and Leeds ; and the cloth market there 
described — Preference of the labours of the loom to other manu- 
factures, illustrated by some comparisons — History of the art of 



1 The following lines, rejected by the Poet, seem to belong to the latter 
part of this book : — 

■ — Howe'er, the mental eye 
That beams o'er every realm and clime, 
O'er hill and Tale, or meadow, down, or tilth, 
Cities, and throngs of men, and deserts drear, 
That views the assemblies of Augusta's mart, 
And roving Ostiacs in Syberiau wastes, 
Sons of wild nature these, and those of trade, 
The spacious mental eye can best behold 
To judge of right and wrong, disposing things 
In lively contrast. — W. 



8 DYEE. 

weaving : its removal from the Netherlands, and settlement in 
several parts of England — Censure of those who would reject the 
persecuted and the stranger — Our trade and prosperity owing to 
them — Of the manufacture of tapestry, taught us by the Saracens 
— Tapestries of Blenheim described — Different arts, procuring 
wealth to different countries — Numerous inhabitants, and their 
industry, the surest source of it — Hence a wish that our country 
were open to all men — View of the roads and rivers through 
which our manufactures are conveyed — Our navigations not far 
from the seats of our manufactures : other countries less happy 
— The difficult work of Egypt in joining the Nile to the Red 
Sea ; and of France in attempting, by canals, a communication 
between the ocean and the Mediterranean — Such junctions may 
more easily be performed in England, and the Trent and Severn 
united to the Thames — Description of the Thames, and the port 
of London. 

Peoceed, Arcadian Muse, resume the pipe 

Of Hermes, long disus'd, though sweet the tone, 

And to the songs of nature's choristers 

Harmonious. Audience pure be thy delight, 

Though few : for ev'ry note which virtue wounds, 

However pleasing to the vulgar herd, 

To the purg'd ear is discord. Yet too oft 

Has false dissembling Vice to am'rous airs 

The reed apply'd, and heedless youth allur'd : 

Too oft, with bolder sound, innam'd the rage 

Of horrid war. Let now the fleecy looms 

Direct our rural numbers, as of old, 

"When plains and sheepfolds were the Muses' haunts. 

So thou, the friend of ev'ry virtuous deed 
And aim, though feeble, shalt these rural lays 
Approve, O Heathcole, whose benevolence 
"Visits our valleys ; where the pasture spreads, 
And where the bramble ; and would justly act 
True charity, by teaching idle Want 
And Yice the inclination to do good, 
Good to themselves, and in themselves to all, 
Through grateful toil. E'en Mature lives by toil : 
Beast, bird, air, fire, the heav'ns, and rolling worlds, 
All live by action: nothing lies at rest, 
But death and ruin : man is born to care ; 
Fashion 'd, improv'd by labour. This of old 
W^ise states, observing, gave that happy law, 
Which docm'd the rich and needy, ev'ry rank, 
To manual occupation ; and oft call'd 
Their chieftains from the spade, or furrowing plough, 
Or bleating sheepfold. Hence utility 



THE FLEECE. 70 

Through all conditions ; hence the joys of health ; 

Hence strength of arm, and clear judicious thought ; 

Hence corn, and wine, and oil, and all in life 

Delectable. What simple JN"ature yields 

(And Nature does her part) are only rude 

Materials, cumbers on the thorny ground ; 

'Tis toil that makes them wealth; that makes the 

fleece, 
(Yet useless, rising in unshapen heaps) 
Anon, in curious woofs of beauteous hue, 
A vesture usefully succinct 1 and warm, 
Or, trailing in the length of graceful folds, 
A royal mantle. Come, ye village nymphs, 
The scatter'd mists reveal the dusky hills ; 
Grey dawn appears ; the golden morn ascends, 
And paints the glitt'ring rocks, and purple woods, 
And flaming spires ; arise, begin your toils ; 
Behold the fleece beneath the spiky comb 
Drop its long locks, or from the mingling card 
Spread in soft flakes, and swell the whit en' d floor. 

Come, village nymphs, ye matrons, and ye maids, 
Receive the soft material : with light step 
Whether ye turn around the spacious wheel, 
Or, patient sitting, that revolve, which forms 
A narrower circle. On the brittle work 
Point your quick eye ; and let the hand assist 
To guide and stretch the gently-less 'ning thread : 
Even, unknotted twine will praise your skill. 

A diff'rent spinning ev'ry diff'rent web 
Asks from your glowing fingers : some require 
The more compact, and some the looser wreath ; 
The last for softness, to delight the touch 
Of chamber'd delicacy ; scarce the cirque 
]N"eed turn-around, or twine the length'ning flake. 

There are, to speed their labour, who prefer 
Wheels double- spol'd, which yield to either hand 
A sev'ral line : and many yet adhere 
To th' ancient distaff, at the bosom fix'd, 
Casting the whirling spindle as they walk : 
At home, or in the sheepfold, or the mart, 
Alike the work proceeds. This method still 
iNorvicum favours, and the Icenian 2 towns : 

1 Wings he wore 

Of many a colour'd plume sprinkled with gold, 
Mis habit Jit for speed succinct. 

— Paradise Lost, iii. 643. — W. 
2 The Iceni were the inhabitants of Suffolk. 
A A 



80 DYER. 

It yields their airy stuffs an apter thread. 
This was of old, in no inglorious days, 
The mode of spinning, when th' Egyptian prince 
A golden distaff gave that beauteous nymph, 
Too beauteous Helen •} no uncourtly gift 
Then, when each gay diversion of the fair 
Led to ingenious use. But patient art, 
That on experience works, from hour to hour, 
Sagacious, has a spiral engine 2 form'd, 
"Which, on a hundred spoles, a hundred threads, 
With one huge wheel, by lapse of water, twines, 
[Few hands requiring ; easy-tended work, 
That copiously supplies the greedy loom. 

JNTor hence, ye nymphs, let anger cloud your brows; 
The more is wrought, the more is still requir'd : 
Blithe o'er your toils, with wonted song, proceed : 
Pear not surcharge ; your hands will ever find 
Ample employment. In the strife of trade, 
These curious instruments of speed obtain 
Various advantage, and the diligent 
Supply with exercise, as fountains sure, 
Which, ever-gliding, feed the flow'ry lawn. 
IN" or, should the careful State, severely kind, 
In ev'ry province, to the house of toil 
Compel the vagrant, and each implement 
Of ruder art, the comb, the card, the wheel, 
Teach their unwilling hands, nor yet complain. 
Yours, with the public good, shall ever rise, 
Ever, while o'er the lawns, and airy downs 
The bleating sheep and shepherd's pipe are heard ; 
While in the brook ye blanch the glist'ning fleece, 
And th' am'rous youth, delighted with your toils, 
Quavers the choicest of his sonnets, warm'd 
By growing traffic, friend to wedded love. 

The am'rous youth with various hopes innam'd, 
inow on the busy stage see him step forth, 
With beating breast : high-honour'd he beholds 
Hich industry. First, he bespeaks a loom : 
Erom some thick wood the carpenter selects 
A slender oak, or beech of glossy trunk, 
Or saplin ash : he shapes the sturdy beam, 
The posts, and treadles ; and the frame combines. 
The smith, with iron screws, and plated hoops, 
Confirms the strong machine, and gives the bolt 

1 See the exquisite Idyl (xviii.) by Theocritus. — W. 
8 Paul's engine for cotton and fine wool. 



THE FLEECE, 81 

That strains the roll. To these the turner's lathe 

And graver's knife, the hollow shuttle add. 

Various professions in the work unite : 

For each on each depends. Thus he acquires 

The curious engine, work of subtle skill ; 

Howe'er in vulgar use around the globe 

Frequent observ'd, of high antiquity 

No doubtful mark : th' advent'rous voyager, 

Toss'd over ocean to remotest shores, 

Hears on remotest shores the murm'ring loom ; 

Sees the deep -furrowing plough, and harrow 'd field, 

The wheel-mov'd waggon, and the discipline 

Of strong-yok'd steers. What needful art is new ? 

Next, the industrious youth employs his care 
To store soft yarn ; and now he strains the warp 
Along the garden-walk, or highway side, 
Smoothing each thread ; now fits it to the loom, 
And sits before the work : from hand to hand 
The thready shuttle glides along the lines, 
Which open to the woof, and shut altern : l 
And ever and anon, to firm the work, 
Against the web is driv'n the noisy frame, 
That o'er the level rushes, like a surge, 
Which, often dashing on the sandy beach, 
Compacts the trav 'Iter's road : from hand to hand 
Again, across the lines oft op'ning, glides 
The thready shuttle, while the web apace 
Increases, as the light of eastern skies 
Spread by the rosy fingers of the morn ; 
And all the fair expanse with beauty glows. 

Or if the broader mantle be the task, 
He chooses some companion to his toil. 
From side to side, with amicable aim, 
Each to the other darts the nimble bolt, 
While friendly converse, prompted by the work, 
Kindles improvement in the op'ning mind. 

What need we name the sev'ral kinds of looms ? 
Those delicate, to whose fair-colour'd threads 
Hang figur'd weights, whose various numbers guide 
The artist's hand : he, unseen flow'rs, and trees, 
And vales, and azure hills, unerring works. 
Or that, whose num'rous needles, glitt'ring bright, 

1 And God made two great lights, great for their use 
To man, the greater to have rule by day, 
The less by night altern. 

— Paradise Lost, vii. 348. — W. 

A A2 



82 DYER. 

Weave the warm hose to cover tender limbs : 
Modern invention : modern is the want. 

Next, from the slack en'd beam the woof unroll'd, 
Near some clear-sliding river, Aire or Stroud, 
Is by the noisy fulling-mill receiv'd ; 
Where tumbling waters turn enormous wheels, 
And hammers, rising and descending, learn 
To imitate the industry of man. 

Oft the wet web is steep'd, and often rais'd, 
Fast-dripping, to the river's grassy bank ; 
And sinewy arms of men, with full-strain'd strength, 
Wring out the latent water ; then, up-hung 
On rugged tenters, to the fervid sun 
Its level surface, reeking, it expands ; 
Still bright'ning in each rigid discipline, 
And gathering worth ; as human life, in pains, 
Conflicts, and troubles. Soon the clothier's shears 
And burler's thistle skim the surface sheen. 
The round of work goes on, from day to day, 
Season to season. So the husbandman 
Pursues his cares ; his plough divides the glebe ; 
The seed is sown ; rough rattle o'er the clods 
The harrow's teeth ; quick weeds his hoe subdues ; 
The sickle labours, and the slow team strains ; 
Till grateful harvest-home rewards his toils. 

Th' ingenious artist, learn'd in drugs, bestows 
The last improvement ; for th' unlabour'd fleece 
Hare is permitted to imbibe the dye. 
In penetrating waves of boiling vats 
The snowy web is steep'd, with grain of weld, 
Fustic, or logwood mix'd, or cochineal, 
Or the dark purple pulp of Pictish woad, 
Of stain tenacious, deep as summer skies, 
Like those that canopy the bow'rs of Stow 
After soft rains, when birds their notes attune, 
Ere the melodious nightingale begins. 

From yon broad vase behold the saffron woofs 
Beauteous emerge ; from these the azure rise ; 
This glows with crimson ; that the auburn holds ; 
These shall the prince with purple robes adorn ; 
And those the warrior mark, and those the priest. 

Few are the primal colours of the art ; 
Five only ; black, and yellow, blue, brown, red ; 
Yet hence innumerable hues arise. 

That stain alone is good which bears unchanged 
Dissolving water's, and calcining sun's, 



THE FLEECE. 83 

And thieving air's attacks. How great the need, 

With utmost caution to prepare the woof, 

To seek the best-adapted dyes, and salts, 

And purest gums ! since your whole skill consists 

In op'ning well the fibres of the woof, 

For the reception of the beauteous dye, 

And wedging ev'ry grain in ev'ry pore, 

Firm as a diamond in rich gold enchas'd. 

But what the pow'rs, which lock them in the web ; 
Whether incrusting salts, or weight of air, 
Or fountain- water's cold contracting wave, 
Or all combin'd, it well befits to know. 
Ah ! wherefore have we lost our old repute ? 
And who inquires the cause, why G-allia's sons 
In depth and brilliancy of hues excel ? 
Yet yield not, Britons ; grasp in ev'ry art 
The foremost name. Let others tamely view, 
On crowded Smyrna's and Byzantium's strand, 
The haughty Turk despise their proffer' d bales. 

]N"ow see, o'er vales, and peopled mountain -tops, 
The welcome traders gathering ev'ry web 
Industrious, ev'ry web too few. Alas ! 
Successless oft their industry, when cease 
The loom and shuttle in the troubled streets ; 
Their motion stopt by wild Intemperance, 
Toil's scoffing foe, who lures the giddy rout 
To scorn their task-work, and to vagrant life 
Turns their rude steps ; while Misery, among 
The cries of infants, haunts their mould'ring huts. 

O when, through ev'ry province, shall be rais'd 
Houses of labour, seats of kind constraint, 
For those who now delight in fruitless sports, 
More than in cheerful works of virtuous trade, 
Which honest wealth would yield, and portion due 
Of public welfare ? Ho, ye poor ! who seek, 
Among the dwellings of the diligent, 
For sustenance unearn'd ; who stroll abroad 
From house to house, with mischievous intent, 
Feigning misfortune : Ho, ye lame ! ye blind ! 
Ye languid limbs, with real want oppress'd, 
Who tread the rough highways, and mountains wild, 
Through storms, and rains, and bitterness of heart; 
Ye children of Affliction ! be compell'd 
To happiness : the long-wish'd daylight dawns, 
When charitable rigour shall detain 
Your step-bruis'd feet. Ev'n now the sons of Trade, 



84 DYER. 

Where'er their cultivated hamlets smile, 
Erect the mansion -, 1 here soft fleeces shine ; 
The card awaits you, and the comb, and wheel : 
Here shroud you from the thunder of the storm ; 
Ko rain shall wet your pillow: here abounds 
Pure bev'rage ; here your viands are prepar'd ; 
To heal each sickness the physician waits, 
And priest entreats to give your Maker praise. 

Behold, in Calder's 2 vale, where wide around 
Unnumber'd villas creep ihe shrubby hills, 
A spacious dome for this fair purpose rise. 
High o'er the open gates, with gracious air, 
Eliza's image stands. By gentle steps 
Up-rais'd, from room to room we slowly walk, 
And view with wonder, and with silent joy, 
The sprightly scene ; where many a busy hand, 
"Where spoles, cards, wheels, and looms, with motion 

quick, 
And ever-murm'ring sound, th' unwonted sense 
Wrap in surprise. To see them all employ'd, 
All blithe, it gives the spreading heart delight, 
As neither meats, nor drinks, nor aught of joy 
Corporeal, can bestow. ]N"or less they gain 
Virtue than wealth, while, on their useful works 
Erom day to day intent, in their full minds 
Evil no place can find. With equal scale 
Some deal abroad the well-assorted fleece ; 
These card the short, those comb the longer flake ; 
Others the harsh and clotted lock receive, 
Yet sever and refine with patient toil, 
And bring to proper use. Elax too, and hemp, 
Excite their diligence. The younger hands 
Ply at the easy work of winding yarn 
On swiftly-circling engines, and their notes 
Warble together, as a choir of larks : 
Such joy arises in the mind employ'd. 
Another scene displays the more robust, 
Hasping or grinding tough Brasilian woods, 
And what Campeachy's 3 disputable shore 
Copious affords to tinge the thirsty web ; 
And the Caribbee isles, whose dulcet canes 

1 This alludes to the workhouses at Bristol, Birmingham, &c. 

2 Caider, a river in Yorkshire, which runs below Halifax, and passes by 
Wakefield. 

3 A town of Mexico, and well described as " disputable," since it was 
taken by the English in 1659, by the buccaneers in 167S, and burned by the 
freebooters of st. Domingo in 1685. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 85 

Equal the honey- comb. We next are shown 
A circular machine, 1 of new design, 
In conic shape : it draws and spins a thread 
Without the tedious toil of needless hands. 
A wheel, invisible, beneath the floor, 
To ev'r y member of th' harmonious frame 
Gives necessary motion. One, intent, 
O'erlooks the work : the carded wool, he says, 
Is smoothly lapp'd around those cylinders, 
Which, gently turning, yield it to yon cirque 
Of upright spindles, which, with rapid whirl, 
Spin out, in long extent, an even twine. 

From this delightful mansion (if we seek 
Still more to view the gifts which honest toil 
Distributes) take we now our eastward course, 
To the rich fields of Burstal. Wide around 
Hillock and valley, farm and village, smile : 
And ruddy roofs, and chimney-tops appear, 
Of busy Leeds, up-wafting to the clouds 
The incense of thanksgiving : all is joy ; 
And trade and business guide the living scene, 
[Roll the full cars, adown the winding Aire 
Load the slow-sailing barges, pile the pack 
On the long tinkling train of slow-pac'd steeds. 
As when a sunny day invites abroad 
The sedulous ants, they issue from their cells 
In bands unnumber'cl, eager for their work ; 
O'er high, o'er low, they lift, they draw, they haste 
With warm affection to each other's aid ; 
Repeat their virtuous efforts, and succeed. 
Thus all is here in motion, all is life : 
The creaking wain brings copious store of corn : 
The grazier's sleeky kine obstruct the roads : 
The neat dress 'd housewives, for the festal board 
Crown'd with full baskets, in the field- way paths 
Come tripping on ; th' echoing hills repeat 
The stroke of axe and hammer ; scaffolds rise, 
And growing edifices ; heaps of stone, 
Beneath the chisel, beauteous shapes assume 
Of frieze and column. Some, with even line, 
New streets are making in the neighboring fields, 
And sacred domes of worship. Industry, 
Which dignifies the artist, lifts the s^ain, 
And the straw cottage to a palace turns, 

1 A most curious machine, invented by Mr. Paul. It is at present con- 
trived to spin cotton, but it may be made to spin fine carded -wool. 



86 DYER. 

Over the work presides. Such was the scene 
Of hurrying Carthage, when the Trojan chief 
First view'd her growing turrets. 1 So appear 
Th' increasing walls of busy Manchester, 
Sheffield, and Birmingham, whose redd'ning fields 
Rise and enlarge their suburbs.* Lo ! in throngs, 
For ev'ry realm, the careful factors meet, 
Whisp'ring each other. In long ranks the bales, 
Like war's bright files, beyond the sight extend. 
Straight, ere the sounding bell the signal strikes 
Which ends the hour of traffic, they conclude 
The speedy compact ; and, well-pleas'd, transfer, 
With mutual benefit, superior wealth 
To many a kingdom's rent, or tyrant's hoard. 

Whate'er is excellent in art proceeds 
From labour and endurance : deep the oak 
Must sink in stubborn earth its roots obscure, 
That hopes to lift its branches to the skies : 
Gold cannot gold appear, until man's toil 
Discloses wide the mountain's hidden ribs, 
And digs the dusky ore, and breaks and grinds 
Its gritty parts, and laves in limpid streams, 
With oft-repeated toil, and oft in fire 
The metal purifies : with the fatigue, 
And tedious process of its painful works, 
The lusty sicken, and the feeble die. 

But cheerful are the labours of the loom, 
By health and ease accompany 'd : they bring 
Superior treasures speedier to the state 
Than those of deep Peruvian mines, where slaves 
(Wretched requital) drink, with trembling hand, 
Pale palsy's baneful cup. Our happy swains 
Behold arising, in their fatt'ning flocks, 
A double wealth; more rich than Belgium's 

boast, 
Who tends the culture of the flaxen reed ; 
Or the Cathayan's, whose ignobler care 
Nurses the silk-worm ; or of India's sons, 
Who plant the cotton- grove by Ganges' stream. 
Nor do their toils and products furnish more 
Than gauds and dresses, of fantastic web, 
To the luxurious : but our kinder toils 
Give clothing to necessity ; keep warm 

1 Miratur moleni iEneas, magalia quondam : 
Miratur portas, strepitunique, et strata viarum. 

— JEn. i. 421.— W, 



THE FLEECE. 87 

Th' unhappy wand'rer, on the mountain wild 
Benighted, while the tempest beats around. 

No, ye soft sons of Ganges, and of Ind, 
Ye feebly delicate, life little needs 
Your fern 'nine toys, nor asks your nerveless arm 
To cast the strong-flung shuttle, or the spear. 
Can ye defend your country from the storm 
Of strong Invasion? Can ye want endure, 
In the besieged fort, with courage firm ? 
Can ye the weather-beaten vessel steer, 
Climb the tali mast, direct the stubborn helm, 
'Mid wild discordant waves, with steady course ? 
Can ye lead out, to distant colonies, 
Th' o'erflo wings of a people, or your wrong'd 
Brethren, by impious persecution driv'n, 
And arm their breasts with fortitude to try 
New regions ; climes, though barren, yet beyond 
The baneful pow'r of tyrants ? These are deeds 
To which their hardy labours well prepare 
The sinewy arm of Albion's sons. Pursue, 
Ye sons of Albion, with unyielding heart, 
Your hardy labours : let the sounding loom 
Mix with the melody of ev'ry vale ; 
The loom, that long-renown'd, wide-envy'd gift 
Of wealthy Elandria, who the boon receiv'd 
From fair Yenetia ; she from Grecian nymphs ; 
They from Phenice, who obtain'd the dole 
Prom old iEgyptus. Thus, around the globe 
The golden-footed Sciences their path 
Mark, like the sun, enkindling life and joy ; 
And, followed close by Ignorance and Pride, 
Lead day and night o'er realms. Our day arose 1 
When Alva's tyranny the weaving arts 
Drove from the fertile valleys of the Scheld ± 
With speedy wing, and scatter'd course they fled, 
Like a community of bees, disturb'd 
By some relentless swain's rapacious hand ; 
While good Eliza, to the fugitives 
Gave gracious welcome ; as wise Egypt erst 
To troubled Nilus, whose nutritious flood 
With annual gratitude enrich'd her meads. 
Then, from fair Antwerp, an industrious train 
Cross 'd the smooth channel of our smiling seas ; 

1 In one of his notes for "The Fleece," Dyer had written: — "The 
various settlements of the foreign manufacture, to be enlarged upon and 
dressed up as hiehly as may be ; for it may be the most poetical part of 
the 3rd Book." The reader will not think the poet unsuccessful. — W. 



8« DYER. 

And in the vales of Cantium, on the banks 
Of Stour alighted, and the naval wave 
Of spacious Medway : some on gentle Yare, 
And fertile Waveney, pitch'd ; and made their seats 
Pleasant Norvicum, and Colcestria's towers : 
Some to the Darent sped their happy way : 
Berghem, and Sluys, and elder Bruges, chose 
Antona's chalky plains, and stretch'd their tents 
Down to Clausentum, and that bay supine 
Beneath the shade of Vecta's cliffy isle. 
Soon o'er the hospitable realm they spread, 
With cheer reviv'd ; and in Sabrina's flood, 
And the Silurian Tame, their textures blanch'd : 
Not undelighted with Vigornia's spires, 
JN~or those, by Yaga's stream, from ruins rais'd 
Of ancient Ariconium ; nor less pleas'd 
With Salop's various scenes ; and that soft tract 
Of Cambria, deep-embay'd, Dimetian land, 
By green hills fenc'd, by ocean's murmur lull'd ; 
Nurse of the rustic bard, who now resounds 
The fortunes of the fleece; whose ancestors 
Were fugitives from superstition's rage, 
And erst from Devon thither brought the loom ; 
Where ivy'd walls of old Kidwelly's 1 tow'rs, 
Nodding, still on their gloomy brows project 
Lancastria's arms, emboss'd in mould'ring stone. 
Thus, then, on Albion's coast, the exil'd band, 
[From rich Menapian towns, and the green banks 
Of Scheld, alighted ; and, alighting, sang 
Grateful thanksgiving. Yet, at times, they shift 
Their habitations, when the hand of pride, 
Restraint, or southern luxury, disturbs 
Their industry, and urges them to vales 
Of the Brigantes ; where, with happier care 
Inspirited, their art improves the fleece, 
Which occupation erst, and wealth immense, 
Gave Brabant's swarming habitants, what time 
We were their shepherds only ; from which state 

1 " It may here be stated that the Dyers were settled at Kidwelly, as were 
also the probably allied families of the same name in Somersetshire and 
Devon, long before the arrival of the foreigners referred to. And even a 
female descent from the aliens cannot be made out for the Poet. Indeed, 
he identifies himself with the English — ' Our day arose — We were their 
shepherds, 5 &c. The Flemings are mentioned in the third person through- 
out. Hence it may be inferred that Dyer uses the word ancestors as synony- 
mous with predecessors — persons going before him, not necessarily in blood. 
Like him, they were nursed or resided in Kidwelly lands, and, like him, re- 
sounded the fortunes of the Fleece. This, I take it, is the drift of the pas- 
sage."— W. H. Dyes Lo^gstafee. 



THE FLEECE. 89 

With friendly arm they rais'd us : nathless some 
Among our old and stubborn swains misdeem' d, 
And envy'd, who enrich' d them ; envy'd those, 
Whose virtues taught the varletry of towns 
To useful toil to turn the pilfring hand. 

And still, when bigotry's black clouds arise 
(For oft they sudden rise in papal realms), 
They from their isle, as from some ark secure, 
Careless, unpitying, view the fiery bolts 
Of superstition, and tyrannic rage, 
And all the fury of the rolling storm, 
Which fierce pursues the suff'rers in their flight. 
Shall not our gates, shall not Britannia's arms 
Spread ever open to receive their flight ? 
A virtuous people, by distresses oft 
(Distresses for the sake of truth endur'd) 
Corrected, dignify 'd ; creating good 
Wlierever they inhabit : this our isle 
Has oft experienc'd ; witness all ye realms 
Of either hemisphere, where commerce flows : 
Th' important truth is stampt on every bale ; 
Each glossy cloth, and drape of mantle warm, 
[Receives th' impression ; ev'ry airy woof, 
Cheyney, and baize, and serge, and alepine, 
Tammy, and crape, and the long countless list 
Of woollen webs ; and ev'ry work of steel ; 
And that crystalline metal, blown or fus'd, 
Limpid as water dropping from the clefts 
Of mossy marble : not to name the aids 
Their wit has giv'n the fleece, now taught to link 
With flax, or cotton, or the silk-worm's thread, 
And gain the graces of variety : 
Whether to form the matron's decent robe, 
Or the thin-shading trail for Agra's 1 nymphs ; 
Or solemn curtains, whose long gloomy folds 
Surround the soft pavilions of the rich. 

They too the many-colour'd Arras taught 
To mimic nature, and the airy shapes 
Of sportive fancy : such as oft appear 
In old mosaic pavements, when the plough 
Up-turns the crumbling glebe of Weldon field ; 
Or that, o'ershaded erst by Woodstock's bow'r, 
Now grac'd by Blenheim in whose stately rooms 

1 There is woven at Manchester, for the East Indies, a very thin stuff, of 
thread and cotton, which is cooler than the manufactures of that country, 
where the material is only cotton. 



90 DYER. 

Rise glowing tapestries, that lure the eye 

With Maklb'ko's wars : here Schellenberg 1 exults, 

Behind surrounding hills of ramparts steep, 

And vales of trenches dark ; each hideous pass 

Armies defend ; yet on the hero leads 

His Britons, like a torrent, o'er the mounds. 

Another scene is Blenheim's glorious field, 

And the red Danube. Here, the rescu'd states 

Crowding beneath his shield ; there, Ramillies' 

Important battle : next, the tenfold chain 2 

Of Arleux burst, and th' adamantine gates 

Of Graul flung open to the tyrant's throne. 

A shade obscures the rest — Ah, then what pow'r 

Invidious from the lifted sickle snatch'd 

The harvest of the plain ? So lively glows 

The fair delusion, that our passions rise 

In the beholding, and the glories share 

Of visionary battle. This bright art 

Did zealous Europe learn of pagan hands, 

While she assay'd with rage of holy war 

To desolate their fields : but old the skill : 

Long were the Phrygians' pict'ring looms renown'd ; 

Tyre also, wealthy seat of arts, excell'd, 

And elder Sidon, in th' historic web. 

Far distant Tibet in her gloomy woods 
Hears the gay tent, of blended wool unwov'n, 
And glutinous materials : the Chinese 
Their porcelain, Japan its varnish boasts. 
Some fair peculiar graces ev'ry realm, 
And each from each a share of wealth acquires. 

But chief by numbers of industrious hands 
A nation's wealth is counted : numbers raise 
Warm emulation : where that virtue dwells, 
There will be traffic's seat ; there will she build 

1 Schellenberg is a hill overhanging the left bank of the Danube. Here 
the French and Bavarians had an intrenched camp, which Marlborough 
attacked, July 2, 1704, with more than ten thousand picked soldiers. Schel- 
lenberg might well be said to " exult;" for these attacks were repulsed with 
great slaughter, and the victory was only won after a loss, chiefly to theEnglish, 
of 1500 killed and 4000 wounded. There is equal truth in Dyer's description 
of the "red Danube," after the Battle of Blenheim; for Marlborough drove 
masses of the flying French into the river, in which large numbers were 
drowned.— W; 

2 I suppose the allusion is to the lines and field- works which the French 
had erected over a space of forty miles ; and 

" The shade which obscures the rest" 

is doubtless meant to indicate the dishonourable negotiation with France, 
which gave to a defeated nation the reward of a conqueror. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 91 

Her rich emporium. Hence, ye happy swains ! 
"With hospitality inflame your breast, 
And emulation : the whole world receive, 
And with their arts, their virtues deck your isle. 
Each clime, each sea, the spacious orb of each, 
Shall join their various stores, and amply feed 
The mighty brotherhood ; while ye proceed, 
Active and enterprising, or to teach 
The stream a naval course, or till the wild, 
Or drain the fen, or stretch the long canal, 
Or plough the fertile billows of the deep. 
Why to the narrow circle of our coast 
Should we submit our limits, while each wind 
Assists the stream and sail, and the wide main 
Woos us in ev'ry port ? See Belgium build, 
Upon the foodful brine her envy'd power ; 
And, half her people floating on the wave, 
Expand her fishy regions. Thus our isle, 
Thus only may Britannia be enlarg'd. — 
But whither, by the visions of the theme 
Smit with sublime delight, but whither strays 
The raptur'd Muse, forgetful of her task ? 

No common pleasure warms the gen'rous mind, 
When it beholds the labours of the loom ; 
How widely round the globe they are dispers'd, 
Erom little tenements by wood or croft, 
Through many a slender path, how sedulous, 
As rills to rivers broad, they speed their way 
To public roads, to Fosse, or Watling- street, 
Or Armine, ancient works ; and thence explore, 
Through ev'ry navigable wave, the sea, 
That laps the green earth round : through Tyne, and 

Tees, 
Through Weare, and Lune, and merchandizing Hull, 
And Swale, and Aire, whose crystal waves reflect 
The various colours of the tinctur'd web : 
Through Ken, swift rolling down his rocky dale, 
Like giddy youth impetuous, then at W r ick 
Curbing his train, and, with the sober pace 
Of cautious eld, meand'ring to the deep ; 
Through Dart and sullen Exe, whose murm'ring wave 
Envies the Dune and Brother, who have won 
The serge and kersie to their blanching streams ; 
Through Towy, winding under Merlin's tow'rs, 
And Usk that, frequent among hoary rocks, 
On her deep waters paints th' impending scene, 



92 DYER. 

Wild torrents, crags, and woods, and mountain snows. 

The northern Cambrians, an industrious tribe, 

Carry their labour on pigmean steeds, 

Of size exceeding not Leicestrian sheep, 

Yet strong and sprightly : over hill and dale 

They travel unfatigued, and lay their bales 

In Salop's streets, beneath whose lofty walls 

Pearly 1 Sabrina waits them with her barks, 

And spreads the swelling sheet. For no-where far 

From some transparent river's naval course 

Arise, and fall, our various Jiills and vales, 

No- where far distant from the masted wharf. 

We need not vex the strong laborious hand 

With toil enormous, as th' Egyptian king, 

Who join'd the sable waters of the Nile 

From Memphis' tow'rs, to th' Erythraean gulph : 

Or as the monarch of enfeebled Gaul, 

Whose will imperious forc'd an hundred streams, 

Through many a forest, many a spacious wild, 

To stretch their scanty trains from sea to sea, 

That some unprofitable skiff might float 

Across irriguous dales, and hollow'd rocks. 

Far easier pains may swell our gentler floods, 
And through the centre of the isle conduct 
To naval union. Trent and Severn's wave, 2 
By plains alone disparted, woo to join 
Majestic Thamis. With their silver urns 
The nimble-footed Naiads of the springs 
Await, upon the dewy lawn, to speed 
And celebrate the union ; and the light 
Wood-nymphs, and those who o'er the grots preside, 
Whose stores bituminous, with sparkling fires, 
In summer's tedious absence cheer the swains, 
Long sitting at the loom ; and those besides, 
Who crown with yellow sheaves the farmer's hopes ; 
And all the genii of commercial toil : 
These on the dewy lawns await, to speed 
And celebrate the union, that the fleece, 

1 Milton had already invoked Sabrina 

" Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave." 

—Comu.% 861. 
" Pearly" was also a favourite epithet, though he applied it differently. — W. 

2 Mr. W. Dyer Longstaffe remarks that — " This idea was accomplished by 
the Trent and Severn, in Staffordshire and Worcestershire, or, as more 
commonly called, the Stourport Canal, in 1770, and the Worcester and Bir- 
mingham Canal, which was still forming in 1817." He says that " Dyer 
elsewhere states that an union of the Thames and Severn was proposed in 
Charles II.' s reign, by a canal from Cricklade to Bristol." — W. 



THE FLEECE. 93 

And glossy web, to evry port around 
May lightly glide along. Ev'n now behold, 
Adown a thousand floods the burden'd barks, 
With white sails glistening, through the gloomy 

woods 
Haste to their harbours. See the silver maze 
Of stately Thamis, ever chequer'd o'er 
With deeply -]aden barges, gliding smooth 
And constant as his stream : in growing pomp, 
By Neptune still attended, slow he rolls 
To great Augusta's mart, where lofty Trade, 
Amid a thousand golden spires enthron'd, 
Gives audience to the world : the strand around 
Close swarms with busy crowds of many a realm. 
What bales, what wealth, what industry, what 

fleets ! 
Lo, from the simple fleece how much proceeds. 



BOOK IV. 

THE ARGUMENT. 



Our manufactures exported — Voyage through the Channel, and by 
the coast of Spain — View of the Mediterranean — Decay of our 
Turkey trade — Address to the factors there — Voyage through the 
Baltic — The mart of Petersburg — The ancient channels of com- 
merce to the Indies — The modern course thither — Shores of 
Afric — Reflections on the slave-trade — The Cape of Good Hope, 
and the eastern coast of Afric — Trade to Persia and Indostan 
precarious through tyranny and frequent insurrections — Disputes 
between the French and English, on the coast of Cormandel, 
censured — A prospect of the Spice Islands, and of China — Traffic 
at Canton — Our woollen manufactures known at Pekin, by the 
caravans from Russia — Description of that journey — Transition 
to the Western hemisphere — Voyage of Raleigh — The state and 
advantages of our North American colonies — Severe winters in 
those climates ; hence the passage through Hudson's Bay im- 
practicable—Enquiries for an easier passage into the Pacific Ocean 
— View of the coasts of South America, and of those tempestuous 
seas — Lord Anson's expedition, and success against the Spaniards 
— The naval power of Britain consistent with the welfare of all 
nations — View of our probable improvements in traffic, and the 
distribution of our woollen manufactures over the whole globe. 

JN'ow, with our woolly treasures amply stor'd, 
Glide the tall fleets iuto the widening mam, 



94 DTEE. 

A floating forest : ev'ry sail, unfurl'd, 

Swells to the wind, and gilds the azure sky. 

Meantime, in pleasing care, the pilot steers 

Steady ; with eye intent upon the steel, 

Steady before the breeze the pilot steers : 

While gaily o'er the waves the mounting prows 

Dance, like a shoal of dolphins, and begin 

To streak with various paths the hoary deep. 

Batavia's shallow sounds by some are sought, 

Or sandy Elb, or Weser, who receive 

The swain's and peasant's toil with grateful hand, 

Which copious gives return ; while some explore 

Deep Finnic gulfs, and a new shore and mart, 

The bold creation of that Kesar's pow'r, 

Illustrious Peter, whose magnific toils 

Repair the distant Caspian, and restore 

To trade its ancient ports. Soon Thanet's strand, 

And Dover's chalky cliff, behind them turn. 

Soon sinks away the green and level beach. 

Of Homney marish and Eye's silent port, 

By angry Neptune clos'd, and Yecta's isle, 

Like the pale moon in vapour, faintly bright. 

An hundred opening marts are seen, are lost ; 

Devonia's hills retire, and Edgecombe 1 mount, 

Waving its gloomy groves, delicious scene. 

Yet steady o'er the waves they steer : and now 

The fluctuating world of waters wide, 

In boundless magnitude, around them swells ; 

O'er whose imaginary brim, nor towns, 

Nor woods, nor mountain tops, nor aught appears, 

But Phoebus' orb, refulgent lamp of light, 

Millions of leagues aloft : heav'n's azure vault 

Bends overhead, majestic, to its base, 

Uninterrupted clear circumference ; 

Till, rising o'er the nick'ring waves, the cape 

Of Finisterre, a cloudy spot, appears. 

Again, and oft, th' advent'rous sails disperse ; 

These to Iberia, others to the coast 

Of Lusitania, th' ancient Tharsis deem'd 

Of Solomon ; fair regions, with the webs 

i Gilpin's picture of Mount Edgecombe may illustrate the Poet's : — " The 
trees, both evergreens and deciduous, are wonderfully fine. But chiefly the 
pine-race seems to thrive ; and among these, the pinaster. The woodman 
would dislike the great abundance of hoary moss which bedecks both it and 
most of the other plants of this marine scenery, but to the picturesque eye, 
the vegetation seems perfect, and the moss a beauty." — Observations on the 
Western Farts of England, p. 218 (1808) —W. 



THE ELEECE. 95 

Of Norwich pleas'd, or those of Manchester ; 
Light airy clothing for their vacant swains, 
And visionary monks. We, in return 
Eeceive Cantabrian steel, and fleeces soft, 
Segovian or Castilian, far renown'd ; 
And gold's attractive metal, pledge of wealth, 
Spur of activity, to good or ill 
Pow'rful incentive ; or Hesperian fruits, 
Fruits of spontaneous growth, the citron bright, 
The fig, and orange, and heart-cheering wine. 

Those ships, from ocean broad, which voyage 
through 
The gates of Hercules, 1 find many seas, 
And bays unnumber'd, op'ning to their keels ; 
But shores inhospitable oft to fraud 
And rapine turn'd, or dreary tracts become 
Of desolation. The proud Roman coasts, 
Fall'n, like the Punic, to the clashing waves 
Eesign their ruins : Tiber's boasted flood, 
Whose pompous moles o'erlook'd the subject deep, 
IS~ow creeps along, through brakes and yellow dust, 
While Keptune scarce perceives its murm'ring rill : 
Such are th' effects, when Tirtue slacks her hand; 
Wild Mature back returns. Along these shores 
Neglected Trade with difficulty toils, 
Collecting slender stores, the sun-dried grape, 
Or capers from the rock, that prompt the taste 
Of luxury. Ev'n Egypt's fertile strand, 
Bereft of human discipline, has lost 
Its ancient lustre : Alexandria's port, 
Once the metropolis of trade, as Tyre, 
And elder Sidon, as the Attic town, 
Beautiful Athens, as rich Corinth, Ehodes, 
Unhonour'd droops. Of all the num'rous marts, 
That in those glitt'ring seas with splendour rose, 
Only Byzantium, of peculiar site, 
Bemains in prosp'rous state ; and Tripolis, 
And Smyrna, sacred ever to the Muse. 

To these resort the delegates of trade, 
Social in life, a virtuous brotherhood ; 
And bales of softest wool from Bradford looms, 
Or Stroud, dispense ; yet see, with vain regret, 
Their stores, once highly priz'd, no longer now, 
Or sought, or valued : copious webs arrive, 
Smooth-wov'n of other than Britannia's fleece, 

1 The Straits of Gibraltar. 
B B 



96 DYEE. 

On the throng'd strand alluring ; the great skill 
Of Gaul, and greater industry, prevails ; 

That proud imperious foe. Yet ah — 'tis not 

Wrong not the Gaul ; it is the foe within 
Impairs our ancient marts : it is the bribe ; 
'Tis he who pours into the shops of trade 
That impious poison : it is he who gains 
The sacred seat of parliament by means, 
That vitiate and emasculate the mind ; 
By sloth, by lewd intemp 'ranee, and a scene 
Of riot, worse than that which ruin'd Home. 
This, this the Tartar, and remote Chinese, 
And all the brotherhood of life, bewail. 

Meantime (while those, who dare be just, oppose 
The various pow'rs of many-heaied vice), 
Ye delegates of trade, by patience rise 
O'er difficulties ; in this sultry clime 
Note what is found of use : the nix of goat, 
Red- wool, and balm, and coffee's berry brown, 
Or dropping gum, or opium's lenient drug ; 
Unnumber'd arts await them : trifles oft, 
By skilful labour, rise to high esteem. 
Nor what the peasant, near some lucid wave, 
Pactolus, Simois, or Meander sloW, 
Renown'd in story, with his plough upturns, 
Neglect ; the hoary medal, and the vase, 
Statue, and bust, of old magnificence 
Beautiful relics : oh, could modern time 
Restore the mimic art, and the clear mien 
Of patriot sages, Walsinghams, and Yorkes, 
And Cecils, in long-lasting stone preserve ! 
But mimic art and nature are impair'd — 
Impair 'd they seem — or in a varied dress 
Delude our eyes ; the world in change delights : 
Change then your searches, with the varied modes 
And wants of realms. Sabean frankincense 
Hare is collected now : few altars smoke 
Now in the idol fane : Panchaia views 
Trade's busy fleets regardless pass her coast : 
Nor frequent are the freights of snow-white woofs, 
Since Home, no more the mistress of the world, 
Varies her garb, and treads her darken' d streets 
With gloomy cowl, majestical no more. 

See the dark spirit of tyrannic power. 
The Thracian channel, long the road of trade 
To the deep Euxine and its naval streams, 



THE FLEECE. 97 

And the Mseotis, now is barr'd with chains, 
And forts of hostile battlement. In aught 
That joys mankind the arbitrary Turk 
Delights not : insolent of rule, he spreads 
Thraldom and desolation o'er his realms. 

Another path to Scythia's wide domains 
Commerce discovers : the Livonian gulph 
Receives her sails, and leads them to the port 
Of rising Petersburgh, whose splendid streets 
Swell with the webs of Leeds : the Cossack there, 
The Calmuc, and Mungolian, round the bales 
In crowds resort, and their warm'd limbs enfold, 
Delighted ; and the hardy Samoid, 
Bough with the stings of frost, from his dark caves 
Ascends, and thither hastes, ere winter's rage 
O'ertake his homeward step ; and they that dwell 
Along the banks of Don's and Volga's streams, 
And borderers of the Caspian, who renew 
That ancient path to India's climes, which fill'd 
With proudest affluence the Colchian state. 

Many have been the ways to those renown'd 
Luxuriant climes of Indus, early known 
To Memphis ; to the port of wealthy Tyre ; 
To Tadmor, beauty of the wilderness, 
Who down the long Euphrates sent her sails ; 
And sacred Salem, when her num'rous fleets, 
From Ezion-geber, 1 pass'd th' Arabian gulph. 

But later times, more fortunate, have found 
O'er ocean's open wave a surer course, 
Sailing the western coast of Afric's realms, 
Of Mauritania, and Nigritian tracts, 
And islands of the Gorgades, the bounds, 
On the Atlantic brine, of ancient trade ; 
But not of modern, by the virtue led 
Of Gaaia and Columbus. The whole globe 
Is now, of commerce, made the scene immense ; 
Which daring ships frequent, associated, 
Like doves, or swallows, in th' ethereal flood, 
Or, like the eagle, solitary seen. 

Some, with more open course, to Indus steer : 
Some coast from port to port, with various men 
A nd manners conversant ; of th' angry surge, 
That thunders loud, and spreads the cliffs with foam, 
Regardless, or the monsters of the deep, 

1 From this port Solomon sent ships to Ophir (1 Kings ix. 26). It is sun- 
posed to be the port ^yhichis now called by the Arabs the Port of Gold. — W. 
B B 2 



98 DYER. 

Porpoise, or grampus, or the rav'nous shark, 
That chase their keels ; or threat'ning rock, o'erhead, 
Of Atlas old ; beneath the threat'ning rocks, 
Heckless, they furl their sails, and, bart'ring, take 
Soft flakes of wool ; for in soft flakes of wool, 
Like the Silurian, Atlas' dales abound. 

The shores of Sus inhospitable rise, 
And high Bojador ; l Zara too displays 
Unfruitful deserts ; Gambia's wave inisles 
An oozy coast, and pestilential ills 
Diffuses wide ; behind are burning sands, 
Adverse to life, and Nilus' hidden fount, 

On Guinea's sultry strand, the drap'ry light 
Of Manchester or Norwich is bestow'd 
For clear transparent gums, and ductile wax, 
And snow-white iv'ry ; yet the valued trade, 
Along this barb'rous coast, in telling, wounds 
The gen'rous heart, the sale of wretched slaves ; 
Slaves by their tribes condemn'd, exchanging death 
For life-long servitude ; severe exchange ! 
These till our fertile colonies, which yield 
The sugar-cane, and the Tobago-leaf, 
And various new productions, that invite 
Increasing navies to their crowded wharfs. 

But let the man, whose rough tempestuous hours 
In this advent'rous traffic are involv'd, 
With just humanity of heart pursue 
The gainful commerce : wickedness is blind : 
Their sable chieftains may in future times 
Burst their frail bonds, and vengeance execute 
On cruel unrelenting pride of heart 
And av'rice. There are ills to come for crimes. 

Hot Guinea too gives yellow dust of gold, 
Which, with her rivers, rolls adown the sides 
Of unknown hills, where fiery -winged winds, 
And sandy deserts rous'd by sudden storms, 
All search forbid : howe'er, on either hand 
Valleys and pleasant plains, and many a tract 
Deem'd uninhabitable erst, are found 
Fertile and populous : their sable tribes, 
In shade of verdant groves, and mountains tall, 
Frequent enjoy the cool descent of rain, 
And soft refreshing breezes : nor are lakes 
Here wanting ; those a sea-wide surface spread, 
Which to the distant Nile and Senegal 

1 A cape on the west coast of Africa. — W, 



THE FLEECE. 

Send long meanders : whate'er lies beyond, 
Of rich or barren, ignorance o'ercasts 
With her dark mantle. Mon'motapa's coast 
Is seldom visited ; and the rough shore 
Of Cafres, land of savage Hottentots, 
Whose hands unnatural hasten to the grave 
Their aged parents ; what barbarity 
And brutal ignorance, where social trade 
Is held contemptible ! Ye gliding sails, 
From these inhospitable gloomy shores 
Indignant turn, and to the friendly Cape, 
Which gives the cheerful mariner good hope 
Of prosp'rous voyage, steer : rejoice to view, 
What trade, with Belgian industry, creates, 
Prospects of civil life, fair towns, and lavrns, 
And yellow tilth, and groves of various fruits, 
Delectable in husk or glossy rind : 
There the capacious vase from crystal springs 
[Replenish, and convenient store provide, 
Like ants, intelligent of future need. 

See, through the fragrance of delicious airs, 
That breathe the smell of balms, how traffic shapes 
A winding voyage, by the lofty coast 
Of Sofala, 1 thought Ophir ; in whose hills 
Ev 'n yet some portion of its ancient wealth 
[Remains, and sparkles in the yellow sand 
Of its clear streams, though unregarded now ; 
Ophirs more rich are found. With easy course 
The vessels glide ! unless their speed be stopp'd 
By dead calms, that oft lie on those smooth seas 
While ev'ry zephyr sleeps : then the shrouds drop ; 2 
/The downy feather, on the cordage hung, 
Moves not ; the flat sea shines like yellow gold, 
Fus'd in the fire ; or like the marble floor 
Of some old temple wide. But where so wide, 

1 On the east coast of Africa. — "W. 
2 Compare with Dyer a beautiful description by Mrs. EadclhTe: — "The 
calm continued during the day, and the sun set with uncommon grandeur 
among clouds of purple, red, and gold, that, mingling with the serene azure 
of the upper sky, composed a richness and harmony of colouring which we 
never saw surpassed. The air was breathless ; the tall sails of the vessel 
were without motion, and her course upon the deep scarcely perceptible ; 
while above, the planet Jupiter burned with steady dignity, and threw a 
tremulous line of light on the sea, whose surface flowed in smooth waveless 
expanse. Then other planets appeared, and countless stars spangled the 
dark waters. Twilight now pervaded air and ocean, but the west was still 
luminous, where one solemn gleam of dusky red edged the horizon, from 
under heavy vapours." — A Journey made in the Summer of '179-1 through HoU 
land, $~c, p. 366. 



100 DYER. 

In old or later time, its marble floor 

Did ever temple boast as this, which here 

Spreads its bright level many a league around ? 

At solemn distances its pillars rise, 

Sofal's blue rocks, Mozambic's palmy steeps, 

And lofty Madagascar's glittering shores, 

Where various woods of beauteous vein and hue, 

And glossy shells in elegance of form, 

For Pond's 1 rich cabinet, or Sloan's, are found. 

Such calm oft checks their course, 'till this bright 

scene 
Is brush'd away before the rising breeze, 
That joys the busy crew, and speeds again 
The sail full-swelling to Socotra's isle, 
For aloes fam'd ; or to the wealthy marts 
Of Ornrus or Gombroon, whose streets are oft 
With caravans and tawny merchants throng'd, 2 
From neighb'ring provinces and realms afar ; 
And fill'd with plenty, though dry sandy wastes 
Spread naked round ; so great the pow'r of trade. 

Persia few ports ; more happy Indostan 
Beholds Surat and Goa on her coasts, 
And Bombay's wealthy isle, and harbour fam'd, 
Supine beneath the shade of cocoa groves. 
But what avails, or many ports or few ? 
Where wild Ambition frequent from his lair 
Starts up ; while fell revenge and famine lead 
To havoc, reckless of the tyrant's whip, 
Which clanks along the vallies : oft in vain 
The merchant seeks upon the strand whom erst, 
Associated by trade, he deck'd and cloth'd ; 
In vain, whom rage or famine has devour'd, 
He seeks ; and with increas'd affection thinks 
On Britain. Still howe'er Bombaya's wharfs 
Pile up blue indigo, and, of frequent use, 
Pungent saltpetre, woods of purple grain, 
And many-colour'd saps from leaf and flow'r, 
And various gums ; the clothier knows their worth ; 
And wool resembling cotton, shorn from trees, 
Not to the fleece unfriendly ; whether mixt 
In warp or woof, or with the line of flax, 
Or softer silk's material : though its aid 
To vulgar eyes appears not ; let none deem 

1 Arthur Pond, a painter and collector of curiosities, in Great Queen- 
street, Lincoln' s-inn-fields. He was a friend of Djer. — W. 

2 Gombroon is a sea-port of Persia. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 101 

The fleece in any traffic unconcern'd ; 
By ev'ry traffic aided ; while each work 
Of art yields wealth to exercise the loom, 
And ev'ry loom employs each hand of art. 
Nor is there wheel in the machine of trade, 
Which Leeds, or Cairo, Lima, or Bombay, 
Helps not, with harmony, to tnrn around, 
Though all unconscious of the union act. 
Few the peculiars of Canara's 1 realm, 
Or sultry Malabar ; where it behoves 
The wary pilot, while he coasts their shores, 
To mark o'er ocean the thick rising isles ; 
Woody Chaetta, Birter rough with rocks ; 
Green-rising Barmur, Mincoy's purple hills ; 
And the minute Maldivias, as a swarm 
Of bees in summer on a poplar's trunk, 
Clust'ring innumerable ; these behind 
His stern receding, o'er the clouds he views 
Ceylon's grey peaks, from whose volcanos rise 
Dark smoke and ruddy flame, and glaring rocks 
Darted in air aloft ; around whose feet 
Blue cliffs ascend, and aromatic groves, 
In various prospect ; Ceylon also deem'd 
The ancient Ophir. Next Bengala's bay, 
On the vast globe the deepest, while the prow 
Turns northward to the rich disputed strand 
Of Cormandel, where Traffic grieves to see 
Discord and Avarice invade her realms, 
Portending ruinous war, and cries aloud, 
" Peace, peace, ye blinded Britons, and ye Gauls ; 
Nation to nation is a light, a fire 
Enkindling virtue, sciences, and arts :" 
But cries aloud in vain. Yet wise defence, 
Against Ambition's wide-destroying pride, 
Madras erected, and Saint David's Fort, 
And those which rise on Ganges' twenty streams, 
Guarding the woven fleece, Calcutta's tow'r, 
And Maldo's and Patana's : from their holds 
The shining bales our factors deal abroad, 
And see the country's products, in exchange, 
Before them heap'd ; cotton's transparent webs, 
Aloes, and cassia, salutiferous drugs, 
Alom, and lacque, and clouded tortoiseshell, 
And brilliant diamonds, to decorate 

1 The poet refers to Canara, in Hindoostan, which makes the northern 
boundary of Malabar. — W. 



102 DTEE. 

Britannia's blooming nymphs. For these, o'er all 
The kingdoms round, our draperies are dispers'd, 
O'er Bukor, Cabul, and the Bactrian vales, 
And Cassimere, and Atoc, on the stream 
Of old Hydaspes, Poms' hardy realm ; 
And late-discover'd Tibet, where the fleece, 
By art peculiar, is compress'd and wrought 
To threadless drap'ry, which in conic forms, 
Of various hues, their gaudy roofs adorns. 

The keels, which voyage through Molucca's 
straits, 
Amid a cloud of spicy odours sail, 
From Java and Sumatra breath'd, whose woods 
Yield fiery pepper, that destroys the moth 
In woolly vestures : Ternate and Tidore 
Give to the festal board the fragrant clove 
And nutmeg, to those narrow bounds confin'd ; 
While gracious nature, with unsparing hand, 
The needs of life o'er ev'ry region pours. 

Near those delicious isles, the beauteous coast 
Of China rears its summits. Know ye not, 
Ye sons of Trade, that ever -flowery shore, 
Those azure hills, those woods and nodding rocks ? 
Compare them with the pictures of your chart ; 
Alike the woods and nodding rocks o'erhang. 
Now the tall glossy towers of porcelain, 
And pillar' d pagods shine ; rejoic'd they see 
The port of Canton op'ning to their prows, 
And in the winding of the river moor. 

Upon the strand they heap their glossy bales, 
And works of Birmingham, in brass or steel, 
And flint, and pond'rous lead from deep cells rais'd, 
Fit ballast in the fury of the storm, 
That tears the shrouds, and bends the stubborn 

mast : 
These for the artists of the fleece procure 
Yarious materials ; and for affluent life 
The flavour'd tea, and glossy painted vase ; 
Things elegant, ill-titled luxuries, 
In temp'rance us'd, delectable and good. 
They too from hence receive the strongest thread 
Of the green silkworm. Yarious is the wealth 
Of that renown'd and ancient land, secure 
In constant peace and commerce ; till'd to th' 

height 
Of rich fertility ; where, thick as stars, 



THE FLEECE. 103 

Bright Habitations glitter on eacli hill, 

And rock, and shady dale : ev'n on the waves 

Of copions rivers, lakes, and bord'ring seas, 

Rise floating villages. !Xo wonder, when 

In ev'ry province, firm and level roads, 

And long canals, and navigable streams, 

Ever, with ease, conduct the works of toil 

To sure and speedy markets, through the length 

Of many a crowded region, many a clime, 

To th' imperial towers of Cambaln, 

iSow Pekin, where the fleece is not unknown : 

Since Calder's woofs, and those of Exe and Erome, 

And Yare and Avon slow, and rapid Trent, 

Thither by Russic caravans are brought, 

Through Scythia's num'rous regions, waste and 

wild, 
Journey immense ! which to th' attentive ear, 
The ALuse, in faithful notes, shall brief describe. 

Erom the proud mart of Petersburgh, ere-while 
The wat'ry seat of Desolation wide, 
Issue these trading caravans, and urge, 
Through dazzling snows, their dreary trackless road ; 
By compass steering oft from week to week, 
Erom month to month; whole seasons view their 

toils. 
JN'eva they pass, and Kesma's gloomy flood, 
Volga, and Don, and Oka's torrent prone, 
Threat'ning in vain ; and many a cataract 
In its fall stopp'd, and bound with bars of ice. 

Close on the left, unnumber'd tracts they view 
White with continual frost ; and on the right 
The Caspian lake, and ever flow'ry realms, 
Though now abhorr'd, behind them turn, the haunt 
Of arbitrary rule, where regions wide 
Are destin'd to the sword ; and on each hand 
Roads hung with carcases, or under foot 
Thick strown ; while in their rough bewilder'd vales, 
The blooming rose its fragrance breathes in vain, 
And silver fountains fall, and nightingales 
Attune their notes, where none are left to hear. 

Sometimes o'er level ways, on easy sleds. 1 
The gen'rous horse conveys the sons of Trade ; 
And ever and anon the docile dog, 
And now the light rein-deer, with rapid pace 
Skims over icy lakes ; now slow they climb 

i Sledges. 



104: DTEE. 

Aloft o'er clouds, and then adown descend 

To hollow valleys, till the eye beholds 

The roofs of Tobol, 1 whose hill-crowning walls 

Shine, like the rising moon, thro' wat'ry mists : 

Tobol, th' abode of those unfortunate 

Exiles of angry state, and thralls of war ; 

Solemn fraternity ! where carl, and prince, 

Soldier, and statesman, and uncrested chief, 

On the dark level of adversity, 

Converse familiar ; while, amid the cares 

And toils for hunger, thirst, and nakedness, 

Their little public smiles, and the bright sparks 

Of trade are kindled. Trade arises oft, 

And virtue, from adversity and want ; 

Be witness, Carthage, witness, ancient Tyre, 

And thou, Batavia, daughter of distress. 

This, with his hands, which erst the truncheon held, 

The hammer lifts ; another bends and weaves 

The flexile willow ; that the mattock drives : 

All are employ 'd ; and by their works acquire 

Our fleecy vestures. Erom their tenements, 

Pleas'd and refreshed, proceeds the caravan 

Thro' lively-spreading cultures, pastures green, 

And yellow tillages in op'ning woods : 

Thence on, thro' JN"arim's 2 wilds, a pathless road 

They force, with rough entangling thorns perplext ; 

Land of the lazy Oztiacs, thin dispers'd, 

'Who, by avoiding, meet the toils they loathe, 

Tenfold augmented ; miserable tribe, 

Yoid of commercial comforts ; who, nor corn, 

Nor pulse, nor oil, nor heart-enliv'ning wine, 

Know to procure ; nor spade, nor scythe, nor share, 

JN~or social aid ; beneath their thorny bed 

The serpent hisses, while in thickets nigh 

Loud howls the hungry wolf. So on they fare, 

And pass by spacious lakes, begirt with rocks 

And azure mountains ; and the heights admire 

Of white Imaus, whose snow-nodding crags 

Frighten the realms beneath, and from their urns 

Pour mighty rivers down, th' impetuous streams 

Oby, 3 and Irtis, and Jenisca, swift, 

Which rush upon the northern pole, upheave 

Its frozen seas, and lift their hills of ice. 

i Tobolsk. 
2 A Eussian town in the government of Tobolsk. — "W. 
3 Obi, Irtysch— the Obi, a river of Asiatic Eussia, deserves the title of 
impetuous, since it runs a course of two thousand miles. — W. 



THE FLEECE. 105 

These rugged paths and savage landscapes pass'd, 
A new scene strikes their eyes : among the clouds 
Aloft they view, what seems a chain of cliffs, 
Nature's proud work ; that matchless work of art, 
The wall of Sina, by Chihoham's pow'r, 
In earliest times, erected. Warlike troops 
Frequent are seen in haughty march along 
Its ridge, a vast extent, beyond the length 
Of many a potent empire ; tow'rs and ports, 
Three times a thousand, lift thereon their brows 
At equal spaces, and in prospect 'round 
Cities, and plains, and kingdoms, overlook. 

At length the gloomy passage they attain 
Of its deep-vaulted gates, whose op'ning folds 
Conduct at length to Pekin's glitt'ring spires, 
The destin'd mart, where joyous they arrive. 

Thus are the textures of the fleece convey'd 
To Sina's distant realm, the utmost bound 
Of the flat floor of steadfast earth ; for so 
Fabied antiquity, ere peaceful Trade 
Inform 'd the op'ning mind of curious man. 

Now to the other hemisphere, my Muse, 
A new world found, extend thy daring wing. 
Be thou the first of the harmonious Nine 
From high Parnassus, the unweary'd toils 
Of industry and valour, in that world 
Triumphant, to reward with tuneful song. 

Happy the voyage o'er th' Atlantic brine 
By active Ealeigh made, and great the joy, 
When he discern'd, above the foamy surge, 
A rising coast, for future colonies 
Op'ning her bays, and figuring her capes, 
Ev'n from the northern tropic to the pole. 
No land gives more employment to the loom, 
Or kindlier feeds the indigent ; no land 
With more variety of wealth rewards 
The hand of Labour : thither, from the wrongs 
Of lawless rule, the free-born spirit flies ; 
Thither Affliction, thither Poverty, 
And Arts and Sciences : thrice happy clime, 
Which Britain makes th' asylum of mankind. 

But joy superior far his bosom warms, 
Who views those shores in ev'ry culture dress'd ; 
With habitations gay, and num'rous towns, 
On hill and valley, and his countrymen 



106 DTEK. 

Form'd into various states, pow'rful and rich, 
In regions far remote : who from our looms 
Take largely for themselves, and for those tribes 
Of Indians, andent tenants of the land, 
In amity conjoin'd, of civil life 
The comforts taught, and various new desires, 
Which kindle arts, and occupy the poor, 
And spread Britannia's flocks o'er ev'ry dale. 

Ye, who the shuttle cast along the loom, 
The silkworm's thread inweaving with the fleece, 
Pray for the culture of the Georgian tract, 
Nor slight the green savannahs, and the plains 
Of Carolina, where thick woods arise 
Of mulberries, and in whose water'd fields 
Up springs the verdant blade of thirsty rice. 
Where are the happy regions, which afford 
More implements of commerce, and of wealth ? 

Fertile Virginia, like a vig'rous bough, 
Which overshades some crystal river, spreads 
Her wealthy cultivations wide around, 
And, more than many a spacious realm, rewards 
The fleecy shuttle : to her growing marts 
The Iroquese, Cheroques, and Oubacks, come, 
And quit their feath'ry ornaments uncouth, 
For woolly garments ; and the cheers of life, 
The cheers, but not the vices, learn to taste. 
Blush, Europeans, whom the circling cup 
Of luxury intoxicates ; ye routs, 
Who, for your crimes, have fled your native land ; 
And ye voluptuous idle, who, in vain, 
Seek easy habitations, void of care : 
The sons of Nature, with astonishment 
And detestation, mark your evil deeds ; 
And view, no longer aw'd, your nerveless arms, 
Unfit to cultivate Ohio's banks. 

See the bold emigrants of Acadie, 1 
And Massachusett, happy in those arts, 
That join the politics of Trade and War, 
Bearing the palm in either ; they appear 
Better exemplars ; and that hardy crew, 
Who, on the frozen beach of Newfoundland, 
Hang their white fish amid the parching winds : 

1 The province of Acadie, since called ISova Scotia, was ceded to Great 
Britain in 1713 ; and when Dyer wrote his poem, the dark hour had not 
come which was to destroy 

" The beautiful village of Grand Pre." — AV. 



THE FLEECE. 107 

The kindly fleece, in webs of Duffield woof, 
Their limbs, benumb 'd, enfolds with eheerly warmth, 
And frieze of Cambria, worn by those, who seek, 
Thro' gnlphs and dales of Hudson's winding bay, 
The beaver's fur, tho' oft they seek in vain, 
While winter's frosty rigour checks approach, 
Ev'n in the fiftieth latitude. Say why 
(If ye, the travelTd sons of Commerce, know), 
Wherefore lie bound their rivers, lakes, and dales, 
Half the sun's annual course, in chains of ice? 
"While the Rhine's fertile shore, and G-allic realms, 
By the same zone encircled, long enjoy 
Warm beams of Phcebus, and, supine, behold 
Their plains and hillocks blush with clustering vines. 

Must it be ever thus ? or may the hand 
Of mighty Labour drain their gusty lakes, 
Enlarge the bright'ning sky, and, peopling, warm 
The op'ning valleys, and the yellowing plains ? 
Or, rather, shall we burst strong Darien's chain, 
Steer our bold fleets between the cloven rocks, 
And through the great Pacific ev'ry joy 
Of civil life diffuse P Are not her isles 
]N"um'rous and large ? Have they not harbours calm, 
Inhabitants, and manners ? haply, too, 
Peculiar sciences, and other forms 
Of trade, and useful products, to exchange 
Eor woolly vestures ? 'Tis a tedious course 
By the Antarctic circle : nor beyond 
Those sea-wrapt gardens of the dulcet reed, 
Bahama and Caribbee, may be found 
Safe mole or harbour, till on Falkland's Isle 
The standard of Britannia shall arise. 
Proud Buenos Ay res, low- couched Paraguay, 
And rough Corrientes, 1 mark, with hostile eye, 
The lab'ring vessel : neither may we trust 
The dreary naked Patagonian land, 
Which darkens in the wind. jN"o traffic there, 
No barter for the fleece. There angry storms 
Bend their black brows, and, raging, hurl around 
Their thunders. Ye advent'rous mariners, 
Be firm ; take courage from the brave. 'Twas there 
Perils and conflicts inexpressible, 
Ax son, with steady undespairing breast, 
Endur'd, when o'er the various globe he chas'd 

1 A town of Paraguay. Patagonia is bounded on the north by Buenos 
Ayres. 



108 DYER. 

His country's foes. Fast-gath'ring: tempests rous'd 
Huge ocean, and involv'd him t 1 all around 
Whirlwind, and snow, and hail, and horror : now, 
Rapidly, with the world of waters, down 
Descending to the channels of the deep, 
He view'd th' uncover'd bottom of th' abyss ; 
And now the stars, upon the loftiest point 
Toss'd of the sky-mix'd surges. Oft the burst 
Of loudest thunder, with the dash of seas, 
Tore the wild-fly ing sails and tumbling masts ; 
While flames, thick-flashing in the gloom, reveal'd 
Ruins of decks, and shrouds, and sights of death. 

Yet on he far'd, with fortitude his cheer, 
Gaining, at intervals, slow way beneath 
Del Fuego's rugged cliffs, and the white ridge, 
■ Above all height, by op'ning clouds reveal'd, 
Of Montegorda, and inaccessible 
Wreck-threatening Staten-land's 2 o'erhanging shore, 
Enormous rocks on rocks, in ever-wild 
Posture of falling ; as when Pelion, rear'd 
On Ossa, and on Ossa's tott'ring head 
Woody Olympus, by the angry gods 
Precipitate on earth were doom'd to fall. 

At length, through ev'ry tempest, as some branch, 
Which from a poplar falls into a loud 
Impetuous cataract, though deep immers'd, 
Yet reascencls, and glides, on lake or stream, 
Smooth through the valleys : so his way he won 
To the serene Pacific, flood immense, 
And rear'd his lofty masts, and spread his sails. 
Then Paita's walls, in wasting flames involv'd, 
His vengeance felt, and fair occasion gave 
To show humanity and continence, 
To Scipio's not inferior. 3 Then was left 
No corner of the globe secure to pride 
And violence : although the far-stretch'd coast 

1 During fifty-eight days the Centurion's courses were reefed. Mr. Pascoe 
Thomas, the schoolmaster, writes : — " The ship rolled almost gunnel-to 
continually ; the sails were almost always splitting and blowing from the 
yards; the yards themselves frequently breaking; the shrouds and other 
rigging cracking and flying in pieces continually." — W, 

2 A craggy island, near the south-eastern point of Terra del Fuego. 

3 Anson's ship, the Centurion, had captured a Spanish vessel; among the 
passengers were two ladies, sisters, of whom the younger was mentioned to 
him as remarkable for her beauty. Anson resolutely refused to see the 
ladies, and prohibited his officers from holding any intercourse with them. 
The generous grace of his conduct was deeply felt ; and to this day the name 
of Anson is remembered with honour in the Spanish provinces of America. 
— W. 



THE FLEECE, 109 

Of Chili, and Peru, and Mexico, 

Arm'd in their evil cause : though fell disease, 

Un'bating labour, tedious time, conspir'd, 

And heat inclement, to unnerve his force ; 

Though that wide sea, which spreads o'er half the 

world, 
Deny'd all hospitable land or port ; 
Where, seasons voyaging, no road he found 
To moor, no bottom in th' abyss, whereon 
To drop the fast'ning anchor ; though his brave 
Companions ceas'd, subdu'd by toil extreme ; 
Though solitary left in Tinian's 1 seas, 
Where never was before the dreaded sound 
Of Britain's thunder heard ; his wave-worn bark 
Met, fought, the proud Iberian, and o'er came. 2 
So fare it ever with our country's foes. 

Hejoice, ye nations, vindicate the sway 
Ordain'd for common happiness. Wide, o'er 
The globe terraqueous, let Britannia pour 
The fruits of plenty from her copious horn. 
What can avail to her, whose fertile earth 
By ocean's briny waves are circumscrib'd, 
The armed host, and murd'ring sword of war, 
And conquest o'er her neighbours ? She ne'er breaks 
Her solemn compacts in the lust of rule : 
Studious of arts and trade, she ne'er disturbs 
The holy peace of states. 'Tis her delight 
To fold the world with harmony, and spread, 
Among the habitations of mankind, 
The various wealth of toil, and what her fleece, 
To clothe the naked, and her skilful looms, 
Peculiar give. Ye too, rejoice, ye swains ; 
Increasing commerce shall reward your cares. 
A day will come, if not too deep we drink 
The cup, which luxury on careless wealth, 
Pernicious gift, bestows ; a day will come 
When, through new channels sailing, we shall clothe 
The Californian coast, and all the realms 
That stretch from Anian's Straits to proud Japan, 

1 Tinian, one of the Ladrone Islands, and rendered famous by Anson's 
voyage. — W. 

' z Anson cruised off Manilla, in the hope of intercepting one of the Spani.-h 
galleons. He had only forty-five able seamen, and the crew of the Spanish 
saip exceeded five hundred men. It was on the 20th of June, 1743, that the 
galleon came in sight ; and, after a combat of one hour and a half, she struct 
her iicig. The value of the prize was nearly a milli on and a half of dollars. — 
W. 



110 DTEE. 

And the green isles, which on the left arise 
Upon the glassy brine, whose various capes 
]Sot yet are figur'd on the sailor's chart : 
Then ev'ry variation shall be told 
Of the magnetic steel, and currents mark'd, 
Which drive the heedless vessel from her course. 

That portion too of land, a tract immense, 
Beneath th' Antarctic spread, shall then be known, 
And new plantations on its coast arise. 
Then rigid winter's ice no more shall wound 
The only naked animal ; but man 
With the soft fleece shall everywhere be cloth'd. 
Th' exulting Muse shall then, in vigour fresh, 
Her flight renew. Meanwhile, with weary wing, 
O'er ocean's wave returning, she explores 
Siluria's flow'ry vales, her old delight, 
The shepherd's haunts, where the first springs arise 
Of Britain's happy trade, now spreading wide, 
Wide as th' Atlantic and Pacific seas, 
Or as air's vital fluid o'er the globe. 1 

1 " I may justly say there is scarce a page in the whole poem but what 
conveys, directly or indirectly, some interesting sentiment, or illustrative 
imagery, while in the most didactic parts, the close of a paragraph generally 
introduces a picture which rivets attention, and throws such a glow of ani- 
mation over the precept, that he must be fastidious indeed who is not de- 
lighted with the poet's art. 5 ' — Dbake, Literary Hours, No. xiii. 



Ill 

TO AAEON HILL, ESQ., 

OlS" HIS POEM CALLED "GIDEON." 

Tell me, wondrous friend ! where were you 

When Gideon was your lofty song ? 

Where did the heaving spirit bear you 

When your fair soul reflected strong 

Gideon's actions, as they shin'd 

Bright in the chambers of the mind ? 

Say, have you trod Arabia's spicy vales, 

Or gather'd bays beside Euphrates' stream, 

Or lonely sung with Jordan's waterfalls, 

While heav'nly Gideon was your sacred theme ? 

Or have you many ages given 

To close retirement and to books, 

And held a long discourse with Heaven, 

And noticed Nature in her various looks ? 

Full of inspiring wonder and delight, 

Slow read I Gideon with a greedy eye, 

Like a pleas 'd traveller, that lingers sweet 

On some fair and lofty plain 

Where the sun does brightly shine, 

And glorious prospects all around him lie. 

On Gideon's pages beautifully shine 

Surprising pictures rising to my sight, 

With all the life of colour and of line, 

And all the force of rounding shade and light, 

And all the grace of something more divine. 

High on a hill, beneath an oak's broad arm, 

I see a youth divinely fair ! 

" Pensive he leans his head on his left hand j 1 

His smiling eye sheds sweetness mix'd with awe ; 

His right hand with a milk-white wand some figure 

seems to draw ! 
A nameless grace is scatter 'd through his air, 
And o'er his shoulders loosely flows his amber-colour'd 

hair.' 5 
Above, with burning blush, the morning glows, 
The waking world all fair before him lies ; 
" Slow from the plain the melting dews, 

1 Those lines in this poem marked with inverted commas are taken out of 
the Poem called " Gideon." 

C C 



112 DYEE. 

To kiss the sunbeams, climbing, rise." 

Methinks the grove of Baal I see, 

In terrac'd stages mount up high, 

And wave its sable beauties in the sky : 

"From stage to stage broad steps of half-hid stone, 

With curly moss and bladed grass o'ergrown, 

Lead awful " 

Down in a dungeon deep, 

" Where through thick walls, oblique, the broken 

light 
From narrow loop-holes quivers to the sight, 
With swift and furious stride. 
Close-folded arms, and short and sudden starts, 
The fretful prince, in dumb and sullen pride, 

[Resolves escape." 

Here in red colours, glowing bold, 
A war-like figure strikes my eye. 
The dreadful sudden sight his foes behold. 
Confounded so, they lose the power to fly ; 
" Backening they gaze at distance on his face, 
Admire his posture, and confess his grace ; 
His right hand grasps his planted spear." 
Alas ! my Muse ! Through much good will you err, 
And we the mighty Author greatly wrong, 
To gather beauties here and there, 
As but a scatter'd few they were, 
While ev'ry word's a beauty in his song ! 



TO ME. SAYAGE, 

SOK OE THE LATE EAEL EIVEES. 

Sink not, my friend ! beneath misfortune's weight, 

Pleas 'd to be found intrinsically great. 

Shame on the dull ! who think the soul looks less 

Because the body wants a glitt'ring dress ; 

It is the mind's for ever bright attire, 

The mind's embroidery, that the wise admire. 

That which looks rich to the gross vulgar eyes, 

Is the fop's tinsel, which the grave despise ; 

Wealth dims the eyes of crowds, and while they 

gaze, 
The coxcomb's ne'er discovered in the blaze. 



TO ME. SAVAGE. 113 

As few the vices of the wealthy see, 
So virtues are conceal'd by poverty. 
Earl Rivers! In that name how would'st thou 
shine ! 
Thy verse how sweet ! Thy fancy how divine ! 
Critics and bards would, by their worth be aw'd, 
And all would think it merit to applaud. 
But thou hast nought to please the vulgar eye, 
No title hast, nor what might titles buy. 
Thou wilt small praise, but much ill-nature find, 
Clear to thy errors, to thy beauties blind ; 
And if, though few, they any faults can see, 
Hoav meanly bitter will cold censure be ! 
But since we all, the wisest of us, err, 
Sure it's the greatest fault to be severe. 
A few, however, yet expect to find 
Among the misty millions of mankind, 
Who proudly stoop to aid an injured cause, 
And o'er the sneer of coxcombs force applause ; 
Who with felt pleasure see fair Virtue rise, 
And lift her upward to the beckoning prize ; 
Or mark her labouring in the modest breast, 
And honour her the more, the more deprest. 
Thee, Savage ! these (the justly great) admire ; 
Thee, quick'ning judgments phlegm with fancy's fire ; 
Thee slow to censure, earnest to commend, 
An able critic, but a willing friend. l 



A NIGHT PROSPECT. 

WRITTEN ON LINCOLN HEATH, 1751. 
[FROM THE MSS.] 

Nigh are the rising spires of Lamplugh's fane, 
Stateliest of Gothic fabrics ; and the crags 
Of ruins glimmer : every zephyr brings 
Into my ears the slow deep- swelling toll 
Of the great curfew. So, the traveller, 
On Lindum's heath, secure, may bate his pace, 
Pleased with the mild descent of purple night ; 

1 A copy of these verses is preserved in the writing of the Poet's son. — W. 



114 DTEE. 

While o'er tlie circles of her solemn vault, 

Eternal Wisdom with almighty hand 

Rolls worlds and worlds. Behold those glittering 

stars, 
And open all thy mind to think the space, 
Hence to each orb, that makes such glorious suns 
So small appear ! Their moons and earths, like ours, 
Which round them move, are lost to ardent sight ; 
So vast extends the distance ! Yet on those 
Planets, to us invisible, are spread 
Europes and Asias, regions not unlike 
To those we act on. Hark, ye things of pride ! 
God, ever gracious, sends his suns abroad 
To light, and cheer, and bless more realms and 

worlds, 
Than folly's narrow thought can reach to damn. 



AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 

[These beautiful stanzas, addressed to Mr. Lewis, 1729, are 
generally printed as "An Epistle to a Friend in Town," and have 
been connected with Savage's Poem to Dyer, in answer to his " From 
the Country," under 1729. In the poet's MSS., is a stanza which 
was to have followed the fourth : 

And fades not the feature, and dims not the sight, 
And sits not disease on her treasures ? 
And thunders not conscience, and frowns not grim night ? 
Ah ! where are her visional pleasures ?] 

Have my friends in the Town, the busy, gay Town, 
Eorgot such a man as John Dyer ? 
Or heedless despise they, or pity the clown, 
Whose bosom no pageantries fire ? 

'No matter, no matter, content in the shades — 
Contented ! why everything charms me — 
Eall in tune all adown the green steep, ye cascades ! 
Till hence rigid Virtue alarms me. 1 

Till Outrage arises, or Misery needs 
The swift, the intrepid avenger : 
Till sacred Religion, or Liberty bleeds — 
Then mine be the deed, or the danger. 

* In H, Elizabeth Dyer's copy, the reading is 

" Till the trumpet of Virtue." — W. 



CHS" THE DESTRUCTION OF LISBON. 115 

Alas ! what a folly, that wealth and domain 
We heap up in sin and in sorrow ! 
Immense is the toil, yet the labour how vain ! 
Is not life to be over to-morrow ? 

Then glide on my moments, the few that I have, 
Sweet-shaded, and quiet, and even, 1 
"While gently the body descends to the grave, 
And the spirit arises to heaven. 2 



OJN T THE DESTRUCTION OF LISBON, 1756. 

[From the MSS. The great earthquake of Lisbon occurred on 
November 1, 1755, and seems to have made considerable im- 
pression on our poet, who alludes to it in his sermons. The poem 
occurs in two shapes. The first form will be found in a note, and is 
headed ' ' Verses made in a dream or slumber ; for I was turning 
them in my thoughts when I found myself awake." The second, 
here adopted, is headed " The same, with alterations."] 

One moment overturns the toils of man, 
And humbles greatness : Lisbon sinks in dust. 
Earthquakes, and floods, and fires, and falling towers, 
Thunder among the scatter' d crowds ! Rich, poor, 
Young, old, slave, peasant, prince, unheeded, ny, 
From the swift rage of death, and strive to grasp 
At wretchedness ! When I consider these ; 
When I consider scenes of ancient times, 
Rums on ruins, thrones on buried thrones ; 
And walk on earth as on a globe of graves ; 3 
When the high heavens I view, and there behold 
Planets, stars, comets, worlds innumerous, 

1 In Elizabeth Dyer's copy, the line is — 

" Untroubled, transparent, and even." — W. 

2 There is a remark worth quoting in the MSS. of the Poet : — " I am far 
from grief, while I think I do my utmost, that in this life I am thought con- 
temptible, and pass away with my talents unexerted. It is soon to be for- 
gotten and over, and another state will succeed." — W. 

3 Var. alt. .— 

When thunders roll, and lightnings fly abroad ; 
When burning mountains cast up flames aloft ; 
When the ground trembles, and the opening plains 
Swallow up festal cities and their pomps : 
When I consider scenes of ancient times ; 
Chiefs, armies, monarchs, kingdoms, sunk, forgot ; 
And walk on earth as on a globe of graves, tvC — W. 



H 



116 DTEE. 

To splendour rising, and from splendour fall'n ; l 
My spirits shrink within me : what is man ! 
How poor a worm ! — but, when I meditate 
His boundless cogitations, high desires ; 
And th' infinite Creator, all in all, 
Gracious and wise ; — each gloomy fear retires, 
And heaven's eternal light revives my soul. 



FOE DE. MACKENZIE'S BOOK, " THE HISTOEY 
OF HEALTH," ETC. 1756. 

[From the MSS. Dyer strongly urged the composition and pub- 
lication of this work. The third edition of it was published at 
Edinburgh in 1760.] 

When long experience, with sagacious thought, 

And learning, and benevolence, and care, 

Eetires to form a work for human use, 

]N"o vulgar gift expect. No vuigar gift 

Is that which gives, to every good we taste, 

Its pleasing relish. Who will not desire 

To share preventive wisdom ? far, far off, 

To drive the hag, distemper ? Health, preserved, 

With far more vigour blooms than health restored. 

So high has been the strain of gratitude, 

That divine honours were to Phoebus given, 

And iEsculapius, and the Coan sage, 

Who the Mackenzies were of ancient days. 



PAEAPHEASE OF PAET OF CHAPTEE XII. 
OF ECCLESIASTES. 

[From Elizabeth Dyer's copies, with an addition from the poet's 
MSS.] 

Now thy Creator, in the prime of youth, 
Eemember ; ere those evil days approach 
When every withering nerve must cease to feel 
The touch of worldly pleasures : while the sun 

* This line is an insertion by the poet, and is wanting in the other 
version. — W. ,,- 



TO HIS SON. 117 

And moon, and spangled stars, on the high vault 

Of heaven, thou canst behold, that teach thy mind 

Worship and praise : ere yet the shadows fall 

Of life's dank evening ; ere thy mortal frame 

Around thee shrink, and trembling hands and knees 

Pail to sustain thee ; when the lightest thing, 

The nimble grasshopper, a burden drops 

Upon thy bending shoulders ; 1 and thick gloom 

O'erspread thy windows ; when the grinders cease 

Their preparations for the chemic work 

Of balmy nutriment, and the sweet notes, 

With which the daughters of harmonious sound 

Play on thy slackened ears, are faintly heard ; 

111 hour of penitence. Now, in thy prime, 

Or ever broken be the golden bowl, 

Or loosed the silver cord, or e'er the wheel 

Breaks at his source, which rolls the vital stream — 2 

Remember thy Creator ; that thy soul, 

When earth to earth, when dust to dust returns, 

May reascend to heaven, and, at His throne, 

Receive the fulness of immortal joy. 



TO HIS SON. 

[From the MSS. John Dyer, Esq., the poet's only son, " of the 
most amiable disposition, and heir to his father's classical taste,' 
was heir to the bulk of his uncle's (John Strong Ensor) estates. He 
devoted the principal part of his time to travelling, had a good 
notion of drawing, and in 1776 and 1777 seems to have held some 



1 May 9, 1757. " The evil days are come, and the lightest thing, even the 
grasshopper, is a burden upon the shoulders of the old and sickly/ ' 

2 The preceding three lines are not in Elizabeth Dyer's copy. On the 3rd 
March, 1757, Dr. Mackenzie states that " all agree (and it is a fine thought) 
that the wheel broken at the cistern means the stoppage of the circulation 
of the blood at the heart, which causes immediate death." He suggested 
that this turn of the sacred text should be added, in the following manner : — 

" Now, in thy prime, 

Eemember thy Creator, e'er the wheel 

Breaks at its source, which rolls the vital stream. 

Eemember thy Creator, that thou mayst," &c. 

Probably, to judge from the conclusion of Mackenzie's suggestion, the copy 
sent to him varied from Elizabeth Dyer's. The poet, on the back of the 
doctor's letter, adopts his hint, adds an image or two more, and arranges 
the addition in his own way, as printed in the text. 

From Mackenzie's letters it appears that this poem was much admired by 
all who obtained copies of it. — D.L. 



US DYER. 

official post at the court of France. Mr. Longstaffe remarks ; " He 
grieved his uncle by not settling down to money-making ; and by 
staying among his Warwickshire friends instead of meeting Mr. Ensor 
in London, lost the opportunity of a good appointment in America, 
much, perhaps, to his own contentment. He died in London in 
1782, aged but 31."] 

Tempekance, exercise, and air, 
Make thee strong and debonair ; x 
Quiet, competence, and health, 
Furnish thee with real wealth ; 
Truth, humility, and love, 
Lead thee to the bliss above. 
Move, at best, is but a bubble, 
More is often toil and trouble. 

1 Dr. Mackenzie, on the 11th April, 1757, objected that " the word debo- 
nair rather signifies a gracefulness and complaisance acquired by keeping 
good company, than a constitutional cheerfulness and good humour to be 
acquired by temperance, exercise, and air." Dyer altered the line to 

" Brace every limb, and cheer each care," 

and began to add a syllable to each line with ill effect.— D. L. 



ADDITIONAL NOTE. 



Dyer was pleased with the appearance of his " Fleece." He writes 
to Dodsley, May 12, 1757: — "You should have had my thanks 
before now for your handsome publication of the " Fleece," had I 
not nattered myself with a journey to town, and with seeing you; 
but very ill health still confines me, and I almost despair of the 
journey. " He then makes the corrections which are already inserted 
in the notes to the Poem, and adds, ' ' I hope these remarks will he 
agreeable to you. If you are inclined to make use of them, or any 
others which I may send you, he pleased to acquaint me. I have 
no frank, and will be your debtor for postage."* 

* This letter was printed in the Qentlemarts Magazine, January, 1835. 

v J" ^S. 
Utt t 




RECEIVED b7£ 













1 * % ■* A.J^7 



i»^ia^« 






•v/V v;- 



Ill# 



Mi 






■SWwWS 



^AAa^.^a' 



A . A A * fid A 



vm 



mm 



War Department Library 

Washington, D. C. 



Mo. 



SM. 




Losses or injuries 
must be promptly ad- 
justed. 

No books issued 
during the month 
of August. 

Time Limits : 
Old books, two 
weeks subject to 
renewal at the op- 
tion of the Librarian. 

New books, one 
week only. 



ACME LIBRARY CARD POCKET 
Made by LIBRARY BUREAU, Boston 



KEEP YOUR CARD IN THIS POCKET 






faw* 



V-i % f h 

'mm 



Sw f 



^a' 




mMmmk 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





012 609 749 9 



13* 

-jar ! > ^4 



& 3T 'M^IIk; 











^iB^ 



